


The Farther He Falls

by QueenOfTheDreamers (QueenOfDreamers)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bellamort, Department of Mysteries, F/M, Prophecy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-09-25 04:45:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 45,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17114738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfDreamers/pseuds/QueenOfTheDreamers
Summary: 1972. Voldemort is given a Prophecy Record concerning him and Bellatrix. The prophecy will change Voldemort's path to power, and will certainly shift Bellatrix's life path. "Withering like winter without her he will be. She craves him in the depths of her being, and time it is for him to crave back. She who is most loyal to the Dark Lord is she whom he needs most of all..." AU.





	1. The Prophecy

_March, 1972_

_Malfoy Manor_

"My Lord." Abraxas Malfoy bowed as he walked into Lord Voldemort's office. He carried a case in his hand, and he waited for permission to sit. Voldemort did not grant it. He stared at Malfoy and noted dryly,

"You've recovered from the celebrations surrounding your son Lucius' engagement to Narcissa Black, I see."

"A little Hang-Away Potion did the trick, Master," said Abraxas. "Cygnus was worse off. He's elated - with Bellatrix being wed this summer to Rodolphus Lestrange and now Narcissa becoming engaged to my Lucius, his spirits are quite high."

"Hmm." Voldemort pinched his lips. He drummed his fingers and noticed just how nervous Abraxas Malfoy seemed. "Out with it. What is the news?"

Malfoy licked his lip and gestured to the chair opposite Voldemort. "May I sit, My Lord?"  
Voldemort finally pushed the chair out with a flick of his wand and watched as Malfoy came to sit. He raised his eyebrows, and Malfoy cleared his throat carefully. He pulled his case onto his lap, and he opened it. He pulled out a cloudy glass sphere, and he cautiously handed it over to Voldemort.

"A prophecy," Voldemort said with feigned calm. Abraxas Malfoy worked in the Department of Mysteries. If anyone would have access to the prophecies that got made, it would be him. Voldemort asked, "Who does this prophecy concern?"

"It was made by Cassandra Vablatsky to me, myself, My Lord, in the Department of Mysteries during one of her recent great Seeing sessions. Among many other prophecies, this one stood out to me because she referenced  _The Dark Lord_. I knew it was about you. She has no recollection of making the prophecy. So far as I know, I am the only one to have heard it."

Voldemort turned the Prophecy Record over and over in his hands.

"I shall need to Obliviate you of the memory of the prophecy," he said simply, "and keep the Record. If it is a prophecy concerning me, only I may know of it."

"I understand, Master," Abraxas said obediently. Voldemort opened his bottom desk drawer, placed the Prophecy Record inside, and shut the drawer. He aimed his wand at Abraxas and muttered,

" _Legilimens._ "

He immediately began to search for the memory of Cassandra Vablatsky making a prophecy about Voldemort to Abraxas, and soon enough he found it.

_They were sitting at a table with two comfortable chairs, Records lined up ready to receive prophecies. Cassandra put her palms flat on the table and tipped her head back, sucking in air hard. When she flopped forward and spoke, it was as though eight or ten low voices were speaking at once._

' _She who is most loyal to the Dark Lord is she whom he needs most of all… He needs her beside him, and she must belong solely to him. Without this most loyal servant, his failure is certain… Further does she creep, farther does he fall. Withering like winter without her he will be. She craves him in the depths of her being, and time it is for him to crave back. She who is most loyal to the Dark Lord is she whom he needs most of all…'_

_Cassandra went silent then, and Abraxas' mouth fell open. He tried not to show emotion as he labeled the prophecy and made note of it, knowing he would need to steal it later and take it to his master._

"You've done well, Abraxas," said Voldemort, trying not to let his voice shake as he processed just what the prophecy meant. He aimed his wand at Malfoy again and twisted it carefully. " _Obliviate._ "

* * *

Bellatrix.

Of course the prophecy referred to Bellatrix.

She who was most loyal to him. Could there be any other? He needed her? He needed her  _beside_  him? She had to belong solely to him? What, was he meant to keep her from marrying Rodolphus Lestrange in three months' time?

_Further does she creep, farther does he fall._

Voldemort sipped at his firewhisky and stared into the fireplace in his office, watching the flames lick the bricks. He'd thought over the prophecy a dozen times since Malfoy had left, his memory altered. Would he fail if he did not somehow bring Bellatrix nearer to him?

Not that she would mind, he knew. The beautiful twenty-year-old servant clung to him like a drowning woman clinging to flotsam. She hung on his every word at meetings. She stared at him whenever they were in the same room. She was also gleeful and skilful in battle, and more than competent. Voldemort had to admit that marrying her off to Rodolphus Lestrange felt like something of a damned shame, given that she was so very… devoted. He'd never tasted her. He'd always resisted the urge to give in to just how thirsty she was for a sampling of her master. He wouldn't reward any servant with his human flesh, he always told himself.

But now there was a prophecy, a prophecy telling him to keep her near him, that she had to belong solely to him, that it was time for him to crave her back. He gulped hard and shut his eyes, and he pulled back his left sleeve. He pressed his wand to his inner wrist, to his Dark Mark, and he whispered,

" _Morsmordre…_ Bellatrix…"

He was calling her through the ether. Her own Mark would burn wherever she was, and she would Apparate here and come to her master at once. He stared into the fire and finished off his tumbler of firewhisky whilst he waited, thinking he was being a complete fool for calling her here now. He licked his lip and tried to imagine what she would taste like. Summer, probably. No. Winter. Bellatrix would taste like winter.

There was knocking on his office door, and Voldemort heaved himself to his feet and Banished his tumbler over to the drinks cart. He walked with slightly uneven steps over to the door and opened it, and he saw Bellatrix standing there in a long black velvet traveling robe. She was breathless as she curtsied and asked,

"Master, is something the matter? How may I -"

"Come inside, Bella." Voldemort stepped aside, and Bellatrix rather confusedly stepped into his office. It was dark in here except for the fire, and she seemed confused by that, too. Voldemort cleared his throat and decided to try and be gentlemanly. After all, he needed to woo her, or at least to crave her. He had to try and crave her. That was what the prophecy said.

"May I take your cloak?" he asked, and Bellatrix's thick brows furrowed. She was baffled now, he could see. She pulled at the satin ribbon round her neck and drew her heavy cloak off her shoulders, and as she handed it to Voldemort, she murmured,

"Thank you kindly, Master."

"Come. Sit with me," said Voldemort, gesturing to the two armchairs before the fire. Bellatrix sank into a chair, and he asked her, "White wine or red?"

"Wine?" Bellatrix's jaw dropped. "Erm… whichever you prefer, My Lord. Thank you."

"Red, then," he nodded. He went over to the drinks cart and used his wand to uncork a bottle of red elf-made wine, and he poured two large glasses. He brought one over to Bellatrix and sat down beside her, and he held up his glass.

"To Narcissa's engagement," he said meaningfully. "She and Lucius Malfoy will make one another very happy, I have no doubt."

"To Narcissa's engagement," Bellatrix nodded. She still looked awfully confused as she drank, and she finally asked, "Master, why have you brought me here?"

He dragged a finger around the rim of his glass, and he shrugged. "You are by far my most loyal servant, Bellatrix. Am I not allowed to spend a bit of time with my most loyal servant?"

"You're allowed to do whatever pleases you, My Lord," Bellatrix pointed out, "and I am scarcely aggrieved by the… invitation. It's only that it's come as a surprise."

"Because you have wanted time with me for a good long while, haven't you?" Voldemort stared at her and thought to himself,  _you must crave her._  She really was very pretty, he thought. She really was incredibly competent. She really was brilliantly intelligent, wickedly Dark, and very, very pretty. Could he crave her the way she craved him? He realised he'd been staring at her for a very long time, and finally she nodded and admitted,

"It's true, Master; I've wanted nothing more than this right here for ages."

"Then I have made you happy," he said, "and I think deservedly so. You serve me incredibly well in battle, Bellatrix; you are the most loyal of all my servants. You deserve to be happy. Tell me something else that would make you happy."

Her full lips parted, and he didn't even need Legilimency to read what she was thinking.

 _A kiss_.

She really did crave him. Her eyes gave her away, her dark, wide eyes. Voldemort's stomach twisted a little, and he set his wine glass down on the table beside him. He rose slowly and beckoned with one finger for Bellatrix to do the same. She came to stand before him, and Voldemort realised just what a height difference there was between them. He was tall for a wizard, and she was short for a witch, and so she barely reached his sternum. She was thin, too, so she was just a little waif of a thing. So small, buried under those voluminous curls, he thought.

_Withering like winter without her he will be. She craves him in the depths of her being, and time it is for him to crave back._

Could he crave her? There was only one way to begin finding out, Voldemort thought. He hadn't been with a witch since his days as Tom Riddle working at Borgin and Burkes. As soon as he'd gone to the Continent, he'd sworn off witches as a monumental distraction from the task at hand. And so his fingers trembled, unpractised after decades of doing nothing like this, as he reached to snarl them into Bellatrix's hair. She gasped a little as one of his hands curled against her scalp, as the other one took her jaw carefully. She reached up on her tiptoes and he bent down, and they met halfway through the height difference as he touched his lips to hers.

Just a press, just a push. Then another, then a third, until Voldemort felt hunger strike him through. Suddenly his hands clenched on Bellatrix's face and in her hair, and he delved his tongue between her lips. Bellatrix squealed in shock as her fingers flew to the front of his robes. Her hands convulsed against his chest as he kissed her harder, his head swimming. He was a little drunk, he knew, and if he'd been sober, he wouldn't have kissed her like this, prophecy or not. But he'd had plenty of firewhisky and some wine, and so he did kiss her, scraping his tongue along the roof of her mouth and sucking on her bottom lip.

When at last he pulled away, Bellatrix staggered backward and looked like she'd fall. He grabbed her waist to steady her, and when he did, the thought occurred to him that she had a very small, very attractive little waist that he rather liked to hold. He didn't let go for a long moment, just watching her pant up at him with her wet, swollen lips. Her cheeks had gone dark pink, and she didn't seem to be able to say anything. Her thoughts were a swirl of confused, chaotic bliss. She was in paradise right now, Voldemort could sense. She wasn't sure what to make of what had happened, but she was certain it was the most wonderful thing in the entire world.

And suddenly, standing there holding Bellatrix Black by the waist, staring down into her dark eyes and still tasting winter -  _yes, winter_  - from her, Lord Voldemort realised something terrifying and wonderful.

He could crave her.

 **Author's Note: Woooooo back to Bellamort after writing** _ **Burned Into Glory**_   **for** _ **Crimes of Grindelwald**_   **and my** _ **Pirates of the Caribbean**_   **fic. I do plan on writing Part II of The Dream Series after I finish this one, which is rather burning a hole in my brain, so thanks for your patience.**

**As always, thank you so very much for reading. I can't tell you how much I appreciate each and every comment.**


	2. It's Off

 

 

 

" _Crucio!_ " Bellatrix aimed her wand at Rosalina Lewis as a red web of light snared itself around the prisoner. A great flush of pleasure washed through her veins as she stood in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, holding her curse as she tortured the enemy.

Rosalina Lewis, who had been a Gryffindor schoolmate of Bellatrix's, had been caught spying on the Death Eaters. Now Bellatrix was using the Cruciatus Curse to find out just what Rosalina knew and who she was working with. Bellatrix gasped from the delicious way it felt to cast this spell. It was her favourite spell in all the world. She held it just a smidge too long, probably - she always did. As the red light snarled and crackled around her body, Rosalina Lewis shrieked bloody murder, her voice bouncing off the stone walls of the dungeon. She pounded the floor with desperate palms and fisted at her mousy brown hair. She clawed at the stone wall beside her and screamed ever more loudly. Finally,  _finally_ , Bellatrix let the spell go, snapping her wand up and storming over to where Rosalina Lewis lay collapsed on her stomach.

"Who sent you to the White Wyvern that day to spy on Rabastan and Abraxas?" she demanded, yanking on Rosalina's hair. The other witch drooled, her face drawn and weary. She'd taken ten minutes' worth of Cruciatus Curses at this point, and she was about to snap, Bellatrix could feel. She spat a little at Bellatrix, panting, and Bellatrix replied, "Right then. Another Cruciatus for you, sweetling.  _Crucio!_ "

She stepped back, dropping Rosalina's head and causing the witch to conk her face straight onto the stone floor. Her Cruciatus Curse came on hard and strong, wrapping her victim in red light again. Bellatrix heard footsteps on the dungeon stairs, and she glanced over to see a figure descending into the dimly-lit dungeons. She held the Cruciatus as Rosalina screamed, and she watched as the figure took shape in the dark orange light.

Him.

Lord Voldemort was walking into the dungeon, watching Bellatrix torture her prey. Bellatrix smiled a little at him as she held her Cruciatus, and she said politely,

"Good afternoon, My Lord."

"Bella." Voldemort folded his arms over his chest and leaned against a pillar. "I think she's had enough. Ask her again."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix broke the curse and kicked her boot hard into the ribcage of Rosalina Lewis. She kicked again and again and then finally yelled, "Who sent you to the White Wyvern that day to spy on Rabastan and Abraxas?"  
Rosalina was silent on the ground for a long while, and Bellatrix wondered if she had taken things too far. She eyed Voldemort, who had a strange look in his eyes. Bellatrix suddenly remembered the way he'd given her a kiss the night before, the way he'd wrapped his arms around her waist. Now he stared at her with a burn in his gaze that made Bellatrix shiver a little. Bellatrix stared at Rosalina and demanded again,

"Who sent you to the White Wyvern?"

"Albus… Dumbledore…" gasped Rosalina. She choked out a broken little sound and then admitted, "He sent me there to listen to Lestrange and Malfoy."

"I knew it. Finish her off, Bellatrix," said Lord Voldemort, and Bellatrix nodded. She aimed her wand at Rosalina Lewis and cast a Killing Curse, her wand exploding with a violent green burst of light. Then Rosalina lay slumped and silent, and Voldemort walked up beside Bellatrix and aimed his own wand at her.

" _Corpus Evanesco,_ " he muttered, and the body Vanished into Nonbeing. He stared down at Bellatrix, and she saw then that his chest was rising and falling rather quickly beneath his heavy black robes. He blinked a few times at her through the dim light, and then she could sense it rolling off of him.

Want.

She licked her bottom lip and stared up at him, and she asked carefully,

"Have I done you proud, My Lord?"

"You always make me proud, in battles and interrogations alike, Bellatrix," Voldemort replied. He reached out then, as if he meant to take her face in his hands, but he pulled his fingers back at the last second and whispered, "Sorry, I… anyway. Well done."

He turned on the ball of his foot and started to go, but Bellatrix called after him,

"Will you be at the party tonight, My Lord? Abraxas Malfoy's forty-fifth birthday party?"

Voldemort whirled round and nodded crisply. "Of course I will."

Then he turned again and pattered up the stairs, out of the dungeons, leaving Bellatrix behind in the empty space without a trace of the witch she'd tortured and killed for him.

* * *

The party was incredibly dull. Abraxas Malfoy was a Death Eater like Bellatrix, but he was also twenty-five years older than Bellatrix, so he was of her parents' generation. Therefore, the music being played over the Amplified record player was dreadfully out of style. The food was even boring - roast beef and mashed potato and carrots at a sit-down meal before people began to mingle and dance. Bellatrix sat beside her parents and found herself staring at the Dark Lord all throughout dinner. He was beside Abraxas Malfoy, at a place of honour at the head of the table. He glanced at her every now and then, his dark eyes flashing whenever he did.

Bellatrix had tried to look pretty. She'd worn a floor-length black sequin gown with a draping back and long sleeves. She'd used Sleekeazy's to tame her curls a bit, and she'd carefully applied makeup. She could feel Voldemort's eyes studying her face and her hair sometimes during dinner, and her cheeks would go hot. He'd kissed her. Did he actually want her? She would gladly give herself to him in her entirety, if that was what he wanted. Was that what he wanted?

"Bellatrix?"

She looked up to see her intended, the man to whom she'd been matched by happy fathers. Rodolphus was a little dull, but he'd probably make a fine husband, Bellatrix thought. He seemed to want to make Bellatrix happy, anyway. Now he stood beside her chair in his brocade dress robes, and he held out his hand.

"I know the music isn't the best," Rodolphus joked, "but I wonder if you wouldn't mind dancing with me just the same."

"Oh. Certainly." Bellatrix jarred all of a sudden. She'd been fantasising about giving herself to Lord Voldemort, but she was promised to Rodolphus Lestrange. How could she be sitting here thinking about stripping her clothes off for her master when in just a few short months, she'd have a husband?

Dancing with Rodolphus was as boring as the rest of the party. They barely spoke as they danced, until at last Rodolphus asked,

"Have you got your wedding dress yet?"

"Oh, yes. They're making it at Twillfit and Tattings," Bellatrix said. She thought of the gown, a delectable confection of lace and satin, and she smiled a little up at Rodolphus. "It'll be a nice wedding, Dolph."

"I'm looking forward to what comes after the wedding," he said rather slyly, and then he seemed to realise he'd sounded like a rogue. He quickly caught himself and stammered, "I - I mean to say, our life together. I'm looking forward to our life together. I didn't mean -"

"It's fine." Bellatrix leaned her forehead onto his chest as she laughed a little. She shook her head and murmured up at him, "Sweet man."

Rodolphus' cheeks went a little pink. He turned his face, and suddenly he looked rather afraid. He stopped dancing, and Bellatrix followed his gaze to see Lord Voldemort striding up to them.

"Mr Lestrange, do you mind if I cut in?" Voldemort asked primly, and Rodolphus just shook his head in silence, murmured an  _Of course, Master_ , and backed away from Bellatrix. Voldemort took Rodolphus' place in the dancing stance, and suddenly Bellatrix couldn't breathe.

She was dancing. With him. With  _him_. She stared up at him and knew she'd never wanted anything in all the world as badly as she'd wanted to be held like this by him. She moved with him as a new song started, and she watched him carefully chew his lip and say,

"I'm bored."

Bellatrix choked out a little laugh and nodded. "It is a  _very_  boring party, My Lord."

"I should like not to be bored," Voldemort said, staring straight into Bellatrix's eyes. He tightened his hand on her back and rubbed at her thumb with his. "Come with me to my office."

Bellatrix felt her eyes go wide. She looked around the party. People didn't seem to be paying them any attention. Even Rodolphus had delved into conversation with his brother Rabastan. Bellatrix's parents were talking to Abraxas and Caroline Malfoy. The other guests were dancing, drinking, or talking. Bellatrix kept dancing with Voldemort and asked him softly,

"When?"

"Now," he answered simply. He let go of her back but kept hold of her hand, and he led her off the dance floor. Still, no one seemed to notice them. Had he Confounded them all? She wouldn't put such magic past him. They left the ballroom and walked down the corridor, his hand still around hers, and as they made their way toward Voldemort's office, Bellatrix trotted to keep up with him.

What did he want of her, she wondered? More kisses? More than that? Did he want sex?

"I only wish not to be bored," he said, and she realised he'd been inside her mind with Legilimency. She frowned and followed him into his office as he wandlessly shut the door behind them, and then she heard him mumble, "I disliked seeing you dance with the Lestrange boy."

"Master, I'm to marry him," Bellatrix said helplessly, but Voldemort whirled round on her in the centre of his office and shook his head.

"We'll see about that," he said, and he seized Bellatrix's face. He bent down and kissed her hard, so hard that her head spun. She arched her back and clutched at the chest of his robes as she kissed him back, tasting firewhisky on him. She moaned like a harlot into the kiss, wanting so much more as her ears went hot and she flushed between her legs. Voldemort's hands went everywhere. He touched at her bare back, exposed by the cut of her dress. He squeezed her waist. He fondled a breast. He grasped her backside in his hands. And then he pulled back and whispered,

"I do crave you."

"You… you do?" Bellatrix was breathless, swiping at her mouth with the inside of her wrist. She watched him stand there and touch at his head, and he shut his eyes as he whispered,

"You must belong solely to me. I have to crave you back. It's complex, and yet very simple, isn't it?"  
Suddenly he sounded like a complete madman, and Bellatrix was concerned. She felt her mouth fall open a little. She had to belong solely to him? He had to crave her back? What was he on about? She walked up to him and put her hands to his chest, and she murmured,

"Even when I marry Rodolphus, Master, I'll be entirely yours. Solely yours."

"No. You won't be solely mine." He shook his head and tipped Bellatrix's chin up. He kissed her lips lightly and insisted, "You'll be his. In name. In bed. You'll be his, and you can't be. You simply can't be his, Bellatrix. So, I do apologise, I suppose, but your wedding is off."

Shock crashed through Bellatrix, and she just stood there as he kissed her again a few times. Her ears rung and her chest stung with surprise. She stepped back and stared up at him in wonder.

"The… the wedding is off?" she repeated, and he just nodded. He licked his bottom lip and shrugged a bit.

"I can not explain much further, Bellatrix, other than to tell you that it is an unacceptable outcome for you to become that boy's wife. I saw you dancing with him tonight. You would not just be his spouse in name alone. The two of you would love one another to a certain degree, and that I can not abide."

"But, My Lord," Bellatrix said confusedly, "may I ask… why not?"

"I do not need to explain myself any further to you," Voldemort snapped, and his demeanour had suddenly shifted. He snarled down at her, "I have my reasons for keeping you closer than I did before, Bellatrix. I have my reasons for ensuring that you do not become that boy's witch. I have my reasons, and they are important reasons, and they are  _my_  reasons. If you dare question me, you'll go the way of Rosalina Lewis. Do you understand me?"

Bellatrix felt her face flush cold. She nodded her assent and whispered cautiously, "I understand, My Lord."

He took her face slowly in his hands and bent down, brushing his lips against hers. He murmured gently against her mouth,

"I have my reasons for keeping you closer than I did before, Bellatrix. You must trust me. Do you trust me?"

"I trust you, Master," Bellatrix hummed as the sounds of the party droned from outside the office. Voldemort kissed her again, more deeply this time than he'd done yet, and when he'd finished, he pulled back and mumbled,

"I'll speak with Rodolphus and make up some excuse about the wedding. Don't worry your head over it, Bella. I have my reasons. Go back to the party; I'm staying here."

"Master." Bellatrix laced her fingers through his and nodded, and then she finally gulped and asked, "Are you still bored?"

"No, Bella." He squeezed at her hand and bent to kiss her forehead. "Thanks to you, I am no longer bored. But if you stay, I'll take this too far for tonight, hmm? So go back to the party, and sit and talk with your parents, and tomorrow I'll speak with Rodolphus, Rudy Lestrange, and your father, and inform them that your wedding is off."

"Because you have your reasons for keeping me closer than you've done before?" Bellatrix asked softly, and Voldemort hummed against her forehead.

"Mmm… because I have my reasons, Bellatrix. Go."

"Yes, My Lord." She finally obeyed him, feeling more confused than she'd ever felt in her entire life as she walked out of his office and down the corridor back toward the ballroom.

**Author's Note: So, he's definitely starting to crave her a little more - that much is obvious. And he cracked a little bit and is calling off Bellatrix's wedding, but he refuses to tell her exactly why. What reason will he make up for calling off the wedding when he speaks to Cygnus, Rudy Lestrange, and Rodolphus? Hmmmm. Thanks as always so much for reading, and a gigantic thank you to those who take a moment to review.**

**Since tomorrow is Christmas Eve and the next day is Christmas, I'm not sure when I'll be able to update. I'll do my best over the holidays to update as rapidly and regularly as possible. Your patience and feedback is greatly appreciated.**


	3. Up For Debate

Why, in these past several years of Bellatrix so desperately  _wanting_  her master, had Voldemort never kissed her before?

She was positively delicious, he thought as he stared at the tiled wall in his shower. She tasted cold and crisp, like snow on an evergreen. Her body was lean and unforgiving beneath his hands, at once soft and firm, sinew over bone. She was beautifully cruel. He'd watched her torture and kill for him, and he'd gone a little hard at that. He'd nearly backed her up against a wall in the dungeons after what she'd done down there. And then, during the party, he'd watched her dance with her fiancé, and it had been far too much.

He did crave her now.

Voldemort shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, using a Hot Air Charm to dry his thinning, greying hair. He studied his face in the mirror above his sink and recognised just how unattractive he was. His face was marled and twisted from creating Horcruxes. He looked old. He was hardly handsome. But Bellatrix didn't seem to care about his looks. She didn't care about his face. She cared that he was her master, her lord. She clung to him desperately despite him being old and ugly.

So why hadn't he kissed her until now? It didn't matter anymore, he supposed. He'd done it at this point, and he intended on doing it again and again. He craved her now. He'd been in bed until two in the morning thinking of her, trying not to touch himself at the memory of her taste, of the feel of her beneath his hands. He did crave her now.

He had three wizards waiting for him right now, he knew. He dressed quickly in black velvet robes, and he slid on his black ankle boots of dragon hide. He made his way out of his quarters and down the winding staircase that led to the main level of Malfoy Manor. He stalked into the dining room, and the instant he entered, the three wizards at the table flew to their feet respectfully.

Rudy Lestrange had gone to school with Tom Riddle. He was plump and balding, but his sons Rabastan and Rodolphus both resembled him in facial features. They were both obviously his sons, with their long, thin noses and their full bottom lips. Rodolphus was seated beside his father, wearing robes of elegant blue. Across the table from the Lestranges was Cygnus Black III, who had also been a part of Tom Riddle's gang at Hogwarts. Bellatrix's father bowed his head as Voldemort entered the room, and he moved with an obvious creak as Voldemort commanded the wizards,

"Sit, gentlemen."

The three others sat down and looked very curious. Surely they knew that this meeting had something to do with Bellatrix, given who had been 'invited.' Voldemort sank slowly into his chair at the head of the table and folded his hands.

"I'm sure you have all been in many meetings together to plan a certain wedding."

"Indeed, Master," said Cygnus Black eagerly. "We are all very earnestly looking forward to Bellatrix marrying Rodolphus in June."

"Ah. Yes. Well. That won't be happening, I'm afraid," said Voldemort delicately. The room went deathly still as all three of the other wizards fell into a hush, too afraid to speak out against what Voldemort had just said. They all eyed one another in silence, their eyes wide and disbelieving, until finally -  _finally_  - Cygnus Black III asked cautiously,

"Master, may I inquire… may I ask…  _why?_  That is, what do you mean by ' _it won't be happening?_ '"

"I mean to say that Rodolphus and Bellatrix will not be marrying one another. The wedding has been called off," Voldemort said simply. Then, reading all their shock and knowing he owed them some sort of an explanation, he drummed his fingers on the table and told them, "Bellatrix has, since her engagement to Rodolphus, become an incredibly useful - invaluable, I daresay - soldier in my cause. I can not have her distracted by the happenings of marriage. The intimacy, the possibility of motherhood, the emotions that come with attachment. None of these are acceptable side effects of marriage for her. No. She must remain wholly untied so that she can fight properly for me."

Rodolphus Lestrange stared at his father for a long moment, and then he turned to Voldemort and cleared his throat carefully. His face went white, and when he spoke, he sounded rather afraid.

"Master," he said, his voice trembling, "I do promise to… to use contraceptive spells diligently with Bellatrix so that there is no risk of… of motherhood. And I shall refrain entirely from intimacy, if that is what you wish. I shall leave her to her own quarters, if it will -"

"My boy, this matter is not up for debate," hissed Voldemort softly. "Bellatrix belongs to me, as a soldier in the war in which we are all now engaged. Are you really questioning my orders?"

He narrowed his eyes at the boy, who shook his head frantically.

"N-No, Master," stammered Rodolphus. "No. Not questioning you, Master. I just… it's only that I… I was so looking forward to being married, My Lord."

"Yes, well. To that end." Voldemort tapped his knuckles on the table and announced, "Agnes Selwyn will graduate Hogwarts in June. I have spoken with her father, just last night, and he would be delighted to match Agnes with you, Rodolphus. You can still have your lovely young Pureblood bride out of all of this."

Cygnus Black III looked absolutely stricken, but Rudy Lestrange looked quite pleased as he murmured to Rodolphus,

"Agnes is that lovely blonde with the bright green eyes; surely you remember."

"Yes, of course I do." Rodolphus pinched his lips and nodded. "If you bid me to leave Bellatrix to your ranks, My Lord, then I must do as you command… for you are my lord and master, and I shall obey you to the ends of the world. I am sorry, Mr Black, not to marry your daughter. I find her brilliant and beautiful, and I must say that I was very much looking forward to our days spent together as husband and wife. I confess myself incredibly aggrieved by my master's decision about Bellatrix. But this news of Agnes Selwyn is very fine, and I am pleased to hear it."

"You speak eloquently even in your grief, my boy," Voldemort smirked, and Rodolphus' pale cheeks went pink. Voldemort nodded. "I shall tell Selwyn to be in touch with you, Rudy. Work out a contract between Agnes and Rodolphus. As for you, Cygnus."

Cygnus Black III turned his face to Voldemort, pursing his lips a little and trying to hide his angry disappointment. Voldemort licked his bottom lip and said lightly,

"Fifteen thousand Galleons for the trouble of all this."

Cygnus frowned, confused, and his mouth opened, but Voldemort continued,

"I shall have it transferred into your Gringotts vault later today. Fifteen thousand for your disappointment and grief. I trust that is sufficient."

Cygnus' face lit up, and Voldemort tried not to snicker. Yes. He knew Cygnus Black's love language. Money. Cygnus stammered out some pithy thanks, and Voldemort just waved him off as he said,

"Everyone wins, then. Me most of all, seeing as I walk away from all of this with a soldier who's not distracted. And she really is my very best soldier, Cygnus. You ought to be very proud. Dismissed, all of you."

The three wizards rose and bowed their heads, chattering among themselves about what had just happened as they walked briskly out of the dining room.

Voldemort waited until they were gone, and then he pulled back the left sleeve of his robe. He touched his wand to his Dark Mark and Summoned Bellatrix through the ether, shutting his eyes and imagining her face. She really was beautiful, he thought. Then he remembered Abraxas Malfoy's memory of receiving the prophecy. He tried to recall the entire thing now.

' _She who is most loyal to the Dark Lord is she whom he needs most of all… He needs her beside him, and she must belong solely to him. Without this most loyal servant, his failure is certain… Further does she creep, farther does he fall. Withering like winter without her he will be. She craves him in the depths of her being, and time it is for him to crave back. She who is most loyal to the Dark Lord is she whom he needs most of all…'_

As he waited for Bellatrix to arrive from his summons, he thought hard about the prophecy.

_He needs her beside him, and she must belong solely to him._  He was trying to make that bit happen now. He was trying to keep her close, to speak often with her, to kiss her daily. He had just destroyed her marriage contract.

_Without this most loyal servant, his failure is certain._  So, without Bellatrix, Voldemort would fail? Other parts of the prophecy seemed to confirm this notion.  _Further does she creep, farther does he fall. Withering like winter without her he will be._  So it was critical, then, that he get and keep her very near. It was not and option that she should drift away from him in any capacity now.

"Master?"

He looked up to see Bellatrix standing in the doorway of the dining room. She was breathless as she stepped inside, shutting the door behind her like the good little soldier that she was. She looked lovely today, brave and lovely in a black velvet dress belted with thick black leather. She wore frightening-looking black leather boots, and as she stripped off her velvet travelling cloak, her curls tumbled over her thin shoulders. She asked Voldemort,

"Is something the matter, My Lord?"

"I've just met with your father and the Lestranges," Voldemort said plainly. "You will not be marrying Rodolphus."

Bellatrix licked her lip cautiously and asked, "What reason did you give them?"

He considered snapping at her that he didn't need to reveal that information to her, but instead he pushed out a chair for her with wandless magic, waited until she sat, and said,

"I told them that I needed you to fight for me without the distractions that come with being a wife. I offered your father a great sum of money for his trouble. I offered Rodolphus a new wife. Agnes Selwyn."

"Oh." Bellatrix bowed her head and picked at her skirt. "Agnes. She's very pretty. He'll quite like her."

"Not half so much as he'd have liked you; that girl's got the brains of a parakeet," said Voldemort cruelly, and Bellatrix smirked a little. She raised her eyes to Voldemort and whispered,

"That's not nice, Master."

"Come now. You're hardly a  _nice_  witch, are you?" Voldemort teased. "You know that girl couldn't spell the word  _Transfiguration_ , much less pass a NEWT in the subject."

Now Bellatrix giggled a little, and she shrugged. "Well, she'll make Dolph happy, I've no doubt. She'll just nod and smile when he talks, and he does like to talk."

"So he does." Voldemort dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and promised Bellatrix, "I have very good reasons for ending this engagement. Important reasons."

"I trust you, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded seriously, and a tingle went down Voldemort's spine. He pushed himself up from his chair, and Bellatrix instantly stood out of respect. His eyes flew to her waist - her narrow little waist - and suddenly he felt something in the pit of his stomach, spreading southward between his legs. Want. Desire. Need.

He was craving her, rather severely.

"Bellatrix." He brought his eyes from her waist up to her face, and he saw her studying him with glassy eyes and full, parted lips. She was just as badly off as him. He stalked toward her, and something inside of him screamed,

_Not here! Not in the dining room, you fool! Upstairs!_

Voldemort snared his arms around Bellatrix the second he reached her, and he bent low, for she was so very small, so that he could plant a kiss on her forehead. She leaned up, and their mouths met, locking into a tight kiss. She snaked her arms up around his shoulders, and he broke away from the kiss to whisper,

"Come upstairs."

"Master?" Bellatrix pulled back and stared at him with curious eyes. He nodded and said it again, a command and not a question. No room for debate.

"Come upstairs with me."

Bellatrix blinked a few times, appearing very much in shock at the idea that the master she'd wanted for so very long was now suggesting that she join him in his quarters. But he didn't give her the luxury of time to be shocked. He snatched her cloak off the chair in one hand and took her wrist in his other hand, and he stalked quickly out of the dining room.

**Author's Note: Well, well, well. Voldemort managed to get Bellatrix's wedding called off in his own diplomatic style. Much as I'd love to write a Christmas Lemon, I suspect I won't be able to update tomorrow, so thanks for your patience. Thank you so much for reading, SUPER HUGE THANKS FOR REVIEWING, and a very Merry Christmas to those celebrating.**


	4. Performance

She was dragged up a flight of winding stairs, although Bellatrix was more than happy to trot along behind Voldemort. When they reached the next floor up, Voldemort pulled her down a corridor and opened a door into his chambers. Bellatrix's heart was pounding in her chest and her breath was coming quick and shallow as she followed him inside. What was he going to do to her? She could scarcely think as he yanked her into his sitting room and slammed the door shut. All she could do was look around and take in the space.

It was high-ceilinged, with brown damask wallpaper and elegant wall sconces. There were two plush brown velvet sofas facing one another with a fireplace between them, and there was a painting of gently swaying hay in a field on the wall. It was an abjectly masculine space, and as Bellatrix looked around, she wondered that the Malfoy family had given over a part of the manor for the Dark Lord's residence. They must be very honoured indeed, she thought, that he lived here.

"Bella."

She snapped to attention, looking up at Voldemort, who took her face in his hands and murmured down to her,

"I will try not to hurt you."

Bellatrix frowned a little. Hurt her? Why would he be hurting her? Was he planning on beating her or abusing her in some other way? Her stomach twisted with fear a bit, and she whispered,

"All right, Master."

"I know the first time is never easy," he continued, and realisation washed over Bellatrix. He must have read the shift in her expression, because then his own eyebrows raised, and he dropped his hands from her face. "Not your first time. You've done this before."

Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot. Was she a whore? He'd wanted a virgin. She cleared her throat and told the truth; he'd always be able to tell a lie from her. She admitted,

"Rodolphus and I were engaged to be married, My Lord. It was just a few times, but we… you know, we were just sort of experimenting. To see what it would be like once we were married."

"Experimenting," Voldemort repeated. He shut his eyes and rolled his neck, and he gulped, his throat visibly bobbing. He cleared his throat roughly then and told her, "I do not care for the thought of you with him."

"I'm so sorry, My Lord," Bellatrix said breathlessly. "If I'd  _ever_  had a reason to believe I'd be physical with you, I'd never have touched him. But I didn't - that is, I never thought you would touch me in this way, so… and I thought I'd be marrying him. I didn't think I was doing anything wrong."

"No, of course you didn't."

Voldemort stepped back from Bellatrix and rolled his shoulders. He sighed deeply and studied her. Then he muttered quietly,

"You must be entirely mine."

He kept saying things like that, she thought, almost as though he were operating off of some sort of orders. Some sort of…

No.

Surely not.

Bellatrix scowled and remembered the way he'd called her to his office out of the blue and kissed her, the way he'd so frantically pulled her away from Rodolphus at Abraxas Malfoy's party and had bruised her lips whilst he spoke of needing her to be his. He had his reasons, he'd said. He'd called off her wedding. He'd paid off her father. He had his reasons for keeping her close. Now he had her in his rooms and was upset that she'd been with another man, just days after he'd first kissed her, and he was reciting the same lines about needing her to be entirely his.

Almost as if there were some sort of prophecy he had to obey.

"Master?" Bellatrix stared at him, and he just shook his head a little, his eyes flashing wildly.

"How did you -?" He staggered back a step, and she realised he'd been inside her head with Legilimency. "There is no prophecy."

"Of course not, My Lord. It's a silly idea." Bellatrix shook her head and folded her hands before her. "I beg you to forgive my stray thoughts."

"All that matters is that I have important reasons for keeping you close," said Voldemort very firmly, and a thread of an idea told Bellatrix that perhaps there was a prophecy, perhaps he was keeping it secret from her. She tried to shove that thought away, tried to be obedient and good the way she was meant to be.

"Get in here." Voldemort wrenched at her wrist and pulled her through the open double doors that led to his bedroom. She gasped as she was led into the dark green space, with its black wooden four-poster bed and heavy brocade bedding. She let out an  _oof_ as Voldemort shoved her rather roughly up onto the bed, and she staggered backward against his pillows.

"Boots and dress off. Now." He stood and crossed his arms, and Bellatrix eyed him, feeling very self-conscious all of a sudden. She nodded quickly and pulled off her spiky boots, laying them aside on the bed. She peeled off her black socks and lay them with her boots, and then she unbuckled her wide black leather belt around her narrow waist. She wriggled to strip off her black velvet dress. Then she sat there, leaning back against the pillows in just her black cotton bra and knickers. She hadn't worn anything fancy today. She hadn't been expecting to strip down to her undergarments. She gulped and stared up at Voldemort, whose dark eyes glinted madly as he whispered,

"Take off the bra and touch your breasts, Bellatrix."

"Yes, Master." She did as he commanded. She would always do exactly as he commanded; he was her lord and master, and she she would obey him to the ends of the Earth. She unfastened her bra and tossed it aside with her dress. She leaned back and tipped her head a little, locking her eyes onto his as her hands went up to her breasts. They were small but round, and as she began to knead, it felt good. Her flesh was soft beneath her own touch, and as she toyed with her nipples, they hardened and peaked. She swallowed the knot in her throat, playing her hands against her breasts like he'd ordered and quite liking the sensation. He liked it, too. She could tell by the way he was brushing his knuckles over the bulge in his trousers. His mouth had fallen open, and he looked a little drunk as he watched her pinch her pert nipples and squeeze at the pillows of the breast tissue. She moaned softly, which he seemed to enjoy more than anything else, and finally she whispered,

"Oh, Master."

"Knickers off," he huffed, and Bellatrix reluctantly slid her hands down over her flat stomach to slip under the waistband of her knickers, just as he wanted. She stared at him as she wormed them down past her narrow hips, and as she slithered out of them, he sucked in breath hard and looked dizzy. He ordered her, "Touch yourself for me, Bellatrix."

"Yes, Master," she said again, and she spread her legs just a little, knowing he could see everything. She felt like a beast on display as he ogled her, staring at the pink folds of her womanhood that she'd exposed. Bellatrix's heart sped up so much that she thought it would leap right out of her chest, and her breath hitched and caught in her lungs. She slid her fingers down around her clit, toying with her walls, pushing inside of her body. She did just as he'd commanded her, touching herself for him. He gripped at his erection and seemed quite on the verge of losing control as his head fell back for a moment, but then he gathered himself and watched. Bellatrix was enormously aroused by how aroused  _he_ was, and she stared at his hardened cock, visible as a lump in the trousers he wore beneath his parted outer robe. She eyed the bulge and craved it, wanted it. She thrust two fingers into herself, curling them, and pumped hard against her clit with the bottom of her palm. Oh, that felt good. That felt very good, she thought. She kept doing that, over and over, until…

She snapped. She lost herself, feeling heat and pressure and bliss all over. She moaned helplessly, her walls clamping around her own fingers. Suddenly Voldemort was stripping off his outer robe and tossing it aside. He was unbuttoning his trousers and shoving them down over his hips, yanking his tunic up. His cock sprang out, long and thick and throbbing, visibly dewy at its tip - anticipation incarnate. He was climbing up onto the bed and aiming his wand at Bellatrix's abdomen, murmuring a contraceptive spell, setting his wand down, and bending to kiss her.

And when he kissed her, something ignited between them, a fire that had not yet been lit in their days of kissing. There had been want. There had been craving, at least on Bellatrix's end. There had been satisfaction and disbelief and sheer happiness. There had been arousal. But there had not yet been  _this_  - this feeling of locking up together, meshing up. When he pushed his cock into Bellatrix's body, he stilled, and she knew why. He would come in ten seconds if he moved. So they just lay there, their bodies linked, for a very long moment. He pulled away from the kiss and panted a little, leaning on his elbows, and Bellatrix murmured,

"I do hope you realise, Master, that you are my entire world."

"I know." He kissed her forehead. "You are my very best soldier, and it is time that I craved you back."

Craved her back? Bellatrix's eyes burned at words like that. She stared up at him and held his face in her hands, nodding. He finally started to move his hips a little, but then he hesitated again and shook his head, admitting,

"It feels too good. I don't know why."

"Master…" Bellatrix rotated her hips up against his, thrusting up against him from beneath, grinding herself onto him from the lower position. He growled and hissed,

"No; you're going to make me -"

"If you do, then it will feel good," Bellatrix argued, brushing her thumbs under his eyes. "I want you to feel good, Master."

"Bella." His eyes rolled back in his head a little before fluttering shut. She kept circling her hips on his, pumping up against him, and he grunted a few times to let her know that he was coming. He tensed up above her, and somehow she didn't even mind that he hadn't done the thrusting. She didn't mind that he hadn't lasted. He'd been so turned on by her breasts and her oyster-like womanhood that he'd been desperate for release. She liked that idea. She liked the notion that her body -  _her_  body - could make her lord and master lose himself so easily. She waited for him to finish, let him kiss her hard again, and then sighed heavily as he pulled out of her and wrenched himself out and back onto his knees.

"Bella," he huffed, almost indignantly. "I promise I am… well, I would say  _usually_ , but it's been more than twenty years for me, so… anyway, I… I am more than a little embarrassed by that underwhelming performance, obviously."

"What? Master?" Bellatrix sat up slowly, shaking her head. She smirked at him, reaching for his jaw, and she promised him, "I am more than satisfied. And, anyway, any attention from you is enough to drive me mad with arousal. You know that, though, I'm sure."

"I do." Voldemort licked his bottom lip and seemed to be considering telling her something, but then he just said softly, "Get dressed, Bella; you mustn't linger here for too long."

She did as he commanded, pulling on her knickers and feeling his come between her legs. She could have cleaned herself up, but for some reason, she didn't want to. She pulled her dress on, and her belt and boots. He watched her, having done himself back up, and when at last she was dressed, he approached her and took her face carefully in his hands.

"I'd like you to attack some Muggles. Time and place is your choice," he said. "It's for intimidation purposes. You are my best soldier, Bella, so I'm entrusting the task to you."

Bellatrix grinned. "Thank you, My Lord."

"I have my reasons for keeping you closer," he said, just like he'd done before. "You must be entirely mine."

Again, a niggling thought worked its way into the back of Bellatrix's mind.  _A prophecy?_  But Voldemort shook his head and kissed her cheekbone, whispering,

"Go. Go eat lunch with your mother bearing my stain upon you. Mine. My little witch, hm?"

She nodded very firmly and squeezed his hand. "Yours, Master. Entirely yours."

**Author's Note: Yeahhhhhhh writing on Christmas Day! Haha. So Bellatrix has basically put the pieces together that there's a prophecy making Voldemort behave and speak so strangely, but he's trying to convince her otherwise. How long before he admits the truth and reveals the actual prophecy to her? Also, who's in the mood to see Bellatrix destroy some Muggles and see Voldemort's reaction to that? Woo hoo. As always, thank you so much for reading and a MASSIVE thank you for reviewing. I got some fantastic Harry Potter gifts this year - hope you did, too. A very Merry Christmas to those celebrating.**


	5. Looking Forward To It

Voldemort lay in his bed three nights later staring at his ceiling and wondering what Bellatrix was doing. Sleeping, probably. He shut his eyes and tried to imagine that, tried to imagine her lying in her bed at her parents' house, curled up and comfortable, breathing slowly in slumber.

Suddenly he found himself dragging his way out of bed. He needed liquor. He needed to drink right now. She'd managed to invade his consciousness so completely that he could scarcely think straight, let alone actually sleep, and he wanted to be profoundly drunk right now. He stalked out of bed in his black flannel pyjamas and out into his sitting-room, over to his drinks cart where there were crystal bottles of various liquors. Voldemort picked up the bottle of firewhisky, his go-to beverage, but then set it down when he decided that he didn't feel much like burning his throat tonight. He picked up a bottle of gin instead and pulled out the crystal stopper, pouring a generous serving into a tumbler. He stopped up the gin again and uncorked a bottle of tonic water, drizzling it into his glass. He didn't have any lime. He could Transfigure the whole lemon he had on the cart into a lime with relative ease, but he frankly didn't care much about it, and he'd made this drink  _awfully_  strong. He picked up the gin and tonic, if one could call something so unbalanced an actual cocktail, and he drank from it. He spluttered a little; it was about eighty percent gin. But he diligently chugged the drink down, and then he made himself another, and then a third.

By the time he'd had his third mostly-gin-and-not-very-much-tonic, Voldemort's head was swimming. He stumbled over to his brown velvet sofa and collapsed down onto it, tipping his head back and thinking of what it had been like to be  _with_  Bellatrix.

She had been so unfathomably beautiful. Her body, lithe and lean and deliciously young, had been as wondrous as rain in a drought. He'd consumed her with his eyes, seeing her touch her own breasts and fondle herself between her legs. It had made him feel powerful, standing there commanding her to do it and watching her for his own pleasure. But she'd found pleasure, too. He'd watched her come. She had reached her peak. And it had been absolutely marvelous to behold.

She'd made him finish in no time at all, circling her hips against his. She'd made him come inside of her and had left him panting above her in only a moment. Somehow, he wasn't even angry about that. He'd enjoyed himself so much, and found himself wanting more so very badly… He was craving her. He was craving her back, just as the prophecy commanded him to do.

Ah, the prophecy, whose existence she appeared to have deciphered. She was indeed a brilliant witch, Voldemort thought, and she was certainly intelligent enough to figure out that if Voldemort kept saying the same things alongside spontaneously bizarre behaviour, there must be an explanation. And her mind had concluded that a prophecy made sense. Well. She was right, but he couldn't let her know that. She couldn't know that the reason he was holding her so near to him right now was because Abraxas Malfoy had come into his office with a Prophecy Record of words delivered to him by Cassandra Vablatsky about the Dark Lord himself. Words spelling doom if Bellatrix drifted too far away, words warning him to keep her very close. Bellatrix mustn't know about that. So Voldemort had shaken his head at her and insisted there was no prophecy.

Now, right now, he was drunk.

His head was absolutely mired in gin right now, and he stared at the ceiling of his sitting room where he sat on the sofa and fingered his wand carefully. Should he do it? No. She was sleeping. She wouldn't want to come to him right now. Oh, what did that matter, he scolded himself? Her wants and preferences were entirely inconsequential; she was his servant. He shoved his left sleeve back and jammed the point of his wand against his Dark Mark. He shut his eyes and whispered in a slur,

" _Morsmordre._  Bellatrix…"

He pictured himself sheathed within her. Tight. She'd been so warm and wet and young. Voldemort licked his lip, flushing from his cheeks down through his chest and stomach as he thought of her. He started to go a little hard, imagining her touching her breasts. His breath came heavy and thick where he sat, and he let out a little noise of want as he squirmed a bit on the sofa. He began to imagine all the other things he could do to her, the ways he could touch her, the ways she could pleasure him. Soon enough he had his hand down the waistband of his trousers and was stroking himself a little, whispering her name into the darkness. This fantasising went on for entirely too long, long enough that he wound up with a genuine insistent, throbbing erection, and then suddenly there was a knock on the door that led to the corridor.

Voldemort jolted to attention. He scowled down at his pyjama trousers. She'd see that he was hard, he knew. There was no masking it. He aimed his wand into his bedroom and hissed frantically,

" _Accio_ dressing-gown."

His black velvet dressing-gown came flying out of his bedroom, and as he caught it and threw it on, tying it tightly round his waist. He rushed over to the door that led from his sitting room to the corridor, moving so quickly in his intoxicated state that he tripped and nearly fell. He cleared his throat as he righted himself, and he pulled the door open. Bellatrix was standing there in a traveling cloak over what appeared to be a simple white nightgown, and she coughed into her elbow.

"You've come from bed," Voldemort said, noting the obvious, "and you're unwell."

Bellatrix sniffled. "It's just a head cold, Master. I took Pepperup Potion a few hours ago that's helped quite a lot. I'm waiting for it to pass before I carry out the Muggle attack mission. I do apologise for being ill; is there something you needed?"  
His stomach sank. He'd brought her here to pound her into the sheets. But she had a head cold. She probably felt rotten. He frowned and said to her,

"Come inside, will you?"

"Of course, My… My…  _ah-choo!_ " Bellatrix sneezed into the handkerchief she carried, and she apologised frantically again. Voldemort suddenly found that he didn't much care if Bellatrix passed some disease onto him. He rather wanted to see her right now, head cold be damned… sex be damned. He brought her into his sitting room and offered,

"How about some tea with honey and lemon, hm?"

"Oh, thank you, Master, but I couldn't trouble you." Bellatrix coughed roughly a few times again, touching at her forehead. Voldemort scowled at how much discomfort she was experiencing, and he insisted,

"It is no trouble." He went to his drinks cart and bent to the second shelf. Suddenly his erection was gone, and he felt a bit more clear-headed than he'd been before. Certainly, he wasn't too drunk to make her tea. He took a teacup and saucer from the shelf, opened a box of teabags of sturdy black tea, and put the bag into the cup. He used his wand to fill the cup with water, heated it, doled out some honey from its jar, and used  _Diffindo_  to slice up the lemon atop the drinks cart. Then he Summoned some Antitussive Draught from his Potions Stores, along with HeadEase and Decongesting Decoction, and he put it all on a small tray. Bellatrix watched in wonder, still coughing and sneezing every now and then, as Voldemort walked over to her. He smirked a little and sat on the sofa, announcing,

"I'm quite drunk, just so you know."

"Are you? I would not have known," Bellatrix laughed, triggering more coughs. She apologised again, but Voldemort handed her one potion at a time and made her dose herself with them. Antitussive Draught for the cough, HeadEase for her obvious headache, Decongesting Decoction to help with the sniffling and sneezing. Bellatrix gratefully took the potions. She'd already taken Pepperup Potion, which was standard for colds. Now she sipped at the tea Voldemort had brewed for her, and she flashed him a very grateful little smile.

"Now I can hear all about what it is that brought me here," she told him. "Is it something to do with my mission to kill Muggles? I've got a good plan of attack, Master. I've got this little town in the Midlands I'm going to hit. My plan is to make it look like a car bomb went off - that's rather a  _thing_  these days, you know - and destroy a whole row of shops. Obviously, the Ministry of Magic will know it wasn't a car bomb, and they'll suspect a Death Eater. It should go very well. I'm excited."

"You're excited." Voldemort bowed his head and raised his eyes, watching her sip her tea. Her cough seemed to have let up, and her voice was less stuffed up now. Good. The potions were helping. He gulped hard, feeling an odd sensation toward her that he couldn't quite pin down. He couldn't tell her that he'd brought her here for sex. That felt… off, somehow. He chomped his lip and nodded. "You're excited about this mission because you are a very good soldier, Bellatrix. You are… you are my finest soldier. It's why I told your father and Rodolphus that you couldn't be married. I need you. I need… I have to have you unchained, unattached. You must be wholly devoted to my cause; there is no room for you to be tied down in marriage."

Bellatrix looked incredibly confused all of a sudden. She sipped at her tea and tipped her head, and she murmured,

"Forgive me, Master, but I thought you said those things to them as an excuse. You said you had your reasons for me not to marry Rodolphus, but I didn't think those were the real reasons."

Voldemort blinked. She was right. Those weren't the real reasons. That had been an excuse. And yet, it had been a very good excuse, because it was true, wasn't it? He did value her service almost above all others' combined. His mouth fell open a little, and he whispered,

"It may have been an excuse, Bella, but it is the truth just the same."

She stared down into her teacup, and he reached into her mind with Legilimency. He could feel what she was thinking. She was wondering what the  _real_  reason was for her not marrying Rodolphus. Why,  _really_ , had Lord Voldemort called off her wedding? She trusted him, of course, but her curiosity was piqued anyway. Voldemort pulled out of her head and pursed his lips.

"I… can not…  _will_  not… tell you any more than I already have," he said. "Suffice it to say that your marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange would be good for no one. He'll be very happy with Agnes Selwyn, I've no doubt."

"Indeed." Bellatrix's eyes watered a little as she scoffed gently and said, "Agnes is home for the Easter holiday next week. There's an engagement party for her and Rodolphus. My father says I must go, in order to show goodwill between the Black and Lestrange families. So I shall go and try not to make a fool of myself at the party celebrating the engagement of my former fiancé."

Voldemort cleared his throat, feeling awkward, though not half as awkward as Bellatrix was bound to feel at that party. He considered things for a long moment. The prophecy said he needed to keep her close, that she needed to be solely his. Did that mean  _publicly_  his? He wondered. He sucked on his bottom lip and finally asked,

"How would you care to attend that engagement party on the arm of the Dark Lord?"

Bellatrix just stared at him, nearly dropping her empty cup of tea. She breathed heavily for a moment and set her teacup down before shaking her head.

"I couldn't possibly -"

"Fine. I shall command you," said Voldemort calmly, feeling drunk again. His head was swimming now. He blinked and reached to hold Bellatrix's cheek in his hand. "You must attend that party as my date, Bella, escorted into the ballroom of Castle Lestrange by the Dark Lord and held by him all night. These are your orders, given to you by your master. Will you obey?"

She seemed breathless, but she nodded and whispered, "Yes. Thank you, My Lord."

"I brought you here to fuck you," he said very plainly then, and Bellatrix's face stayed still and calm. She nodded, and Voldemort stood on unsteady feet, dragging her up with him.

This time, the sex was quick and manic on the edge of his bed, with her bent over and hardly wet. He was behind her, genuinely  _fucking_  her, jerking his hips into her, and it wasn't until he'd spilled himself inside of her that he realised he'd done it all wrong. He stared down at her clothed back and arms, heaving from exertion, and realised she hadn't come. He frowned at that. She blew hair out of her eyes and he thought about how he hadn't kissed her through the whole thing, how he hadn't seen her face. He scowled as he pulled out of her, and he muttered,

"It'll be better next time. Sorry."

"Why are you apologising, My Lord?" Bellatrix huffed, yanking up the knickers that had been shoved down round her ankles. She seemed perfectly content. Well, of course she was content. She worshipped him. She turned to face Voldemort, and he grasped her face in his hands. She stared up at him, wide-eyed, and he shook his head down at her.

"You didn't finish," he noted, and she scoffed a little. She shrugged and insisted,

"I don't mind. Any touch from you, My Lord, is enough to -"

"Stop that." He shook his head and bent to kiss her roughly. She squealed against how hard he was kissing her. He finally wrenched his mouth away and mumbled, "You'll finish next time. And the next, and the time after that."

She seemed dizzy at those words, but she just nodded and whispered,

"Yes, Master."

He sent her on her way after that, kissing her goodby against the wall for a very long time. It felt like forever, that kiss, and it was a deep and passionate dig into her that felt delightfully intimate. Pressing her up onto the wall with his body felt good. Her hands on his head felt good.  _She_  felt good.

"Thank you for the potions and the tea," Bellatrix murmured, and Voldemort realised he was almost certainly going to catch a cold from her. He didn't care. How could he possibly care about that right now? He just nodded and watched her leave, feeling a strange ache in his stomach once she'd gone.

Yes, he thought. He would take her to Rodolphus' engagement party. And he would let people see her on his arm. The prophecy had not specified anything about privacy, about keeping her close and making her his but not telling anyone about it. So he would walk her into that ballroom on his arm, and he she would be solely his right there in front of everyone.

And he was rather looking forward to it.

**Author's Note: Oh, my. Do I sense a Possessive PDA Voldemort on the horizon? Mwah hahaha. Raise your hand if you're excited for THAT. :} Thank you so very much for reading and a HUGE thank you for REVIEWING. Feedback is treasured like gold.**


	6. Six O'Clock

Bellatrix was ill for a few more days, and there was heavy rain in the Midlands, which combined to prompt Voldemort to instruct her to wait until after Rodolphus' engagement party to carry out her mission against the Muggles. He'd want to be able to have a big debriefing meeting afterward with all the Death Eaters, he said, and he needed the calendar to be clear. So Bellatrix waited.

The day before Rodolphus' party, an owl arrived at her parents' home, and Druella Black came flitting into the parlour carrying a sealed letter.

"Bellatrix, it's for you, sealed with the Dark Mark," she exclaimed. Bellatrix took the letter from her mother and rose from the divan, walking toward the window and staring out at the rain for a moment before cracking open the seal and pulling out the letter inside. She read slowly to herself, admiring the Dark Lord's spindly handwriting.

_Bellatrix,_

_I shall be at your parents' house to take you by Side-Along Apparition tomorrow at six o'clock in the evening. Please be ready to go to the party at that time._

_Lord Voldemort_

"What did he say?" chirped Druella Black from behind Bellatrix. She turned round and clutched the letter to her chest, shaking her head.

"It's private."

Druella frowned, and finally Bellatrix admitted,

"He says he'll be here tomorrow at six to pick me up for the party."

"For Rodolphus' party? What do you mean,  _pick you up?_ " Druella stared at Bellatrix in wonder. "He's taking you to the party? The Dark Lord?"

"Yes. I'm going on his arm," Bellatrix murmured. She stared at the letter again, studying his script, dragging her fingers over the places where he'd pulled the nib of the quill, and she smiled just a little to herself.

"My, my, Bellatrix," Druella said, sounding impressed, "Colour me pleasantly surprised. Does Daddy know that you're going to the party with the Dark Lord?"

"Why would Daddy know?" Bellatrix snapped. Then, warming her tone a little, she shook her head and said, "No. I suppose I ought to tell him."

Cygnus' reaction to the news was slack-jawed shock. He was lost somewhere between disbelief and giddy glee at the idea of his own daughter being escorted to Rodolphus Lestrange's  _new_  engagement party on the arm of the Dark Lord himself. Bellatrix knew that Cygnus had been paid a great sum of money in exchange for calling off the engagement between Bellatrix and Rodolphus, but that her father had still been rather melancholy about it all. So had Druella; both of the Black parents had been looking forward to seeing their daughter wed Rodolphus. Narcissa gasped and grinned when Bellatrix told her the Dark Lord would be coming to pick her up for the party. Andromeda, who had fallen for a Mudblood and had been disowned by the family, was absent, of course.

The entire Black family, sans Andromeda, would be attending Rodolphus' and Agnes' engagement party at Castle Lestrange. It was a sign of goodwill between the Black and Lestrange families, Cygnus insisted, that they go. It would show that there were no hard feelings in having called off the engagement between Bellatrix and Rodolphus. The public explanation for that engagement ending was the same explanation Voldemort had given the wizards - he needed Bellatrix as a devoted soldier in the war and could not sacrifice her to marriage. So it was a no-fault situation.

Still, Bellatrix was determined to look as lovely as she possibly could as she readied herself the next day for the party. If she was going to be forced to mill about at a party with the man she'd been meant to marry celebrating his engagement to someone else, then she would at least look pretty. She wore a black party dress of lace and tulle. It had a plunging neckline that showed off the swell of her small breasts and long sleeves on its black lace bodice, and the knee-length skirts were of soft black tulle. Bellatrix wore black tights and black high heeled shoes, and she wore a diamond pendant necklace. She carefully styled her curls into a low chignon at the nape of her neck, with just a few stray curls let free. She wore scarlet lipstick, lined her eyes darkly, and wore diamond stud earrings. Bellatrix studied her own reflection in her full-length mirror and decided she did look rather pretty, after all. Her stomach churned with excitement as she looked at the clock and saw that it was three minutes to six.

There was a knock on her bedroom door, and Bellatrix said shakily,

"Come in."

The door opened, and Druella stood there in a plum-coloured silk dress robe with a matching hat perched upon her head. She breathed in deeply and declared,

"Oh, my eldest daughter. How lovely you look."

"Are you certain?" Bellatrix asked nervously, and Druella nodded firmly.

"It's perfect," she said. Just then, there was the sound of the door chime downstairs, and Bellatrix felt her eyes go round.

"He's a minute early!" she exclaimed. She shoved past her mother and careened down the stairs rather ungracefully as Mawky, the House-Elf, opened the door. Bellatrix slowed her steps and walked more elegantly as Voldemort came walking into the Black family home.

"Hello, My Lord," said Bellatrix from the third step from the bottom. She saw his eyes flash as he took in the sight of her, and he surprised her by saying immediately,

"You look magnificent, Bella."

"Oh. Thank you so much." Bellatrix flashed him an anxious smile as Druella followed her into the foyer. Druella asked gently,

"Master, may I offer you tea?"

"No, Druella; we're off to the party straight away," Voldemort said. His eyes were locked on Bellatrix. He held out his arm and murmured, "Shall we go, Bellatrix?"

Bellatrix glanced over her shoulder to her mother and smiled rather happily. "Tell Cissy and Daddy I'll see them at the party," she said. "Bye, Mum."

"See you there, dear," Druella nodded. She raised her eyes to Voldemort and bowed her head very respectfully. "My Lord."

"Goodbye, Druella." Voldemort watched as Bellatrix threaded her hand through his arm, and as soon as she'd taken hold of him, the two of them blinked out of the foyer with a little  _snap_. Bellatrix was pulled into the black void of Apparition for a moment, pinched and whirled and squeezed, and then suddenly she came to, struggling not to trip in her high heels. She was standing on the grass outside of an elegant turreted manor house - Castle Lestrange.

"Oh, My Lord," she said quietly, "I genuinely do not want to be at this party. I am glad to be here with you, of course, but it is strange and unpleasant to be at the engagement party of my fiancé."

"He is not your fiancé anymore," Voldemort reminded her rather sharply. She nodded up at Voldemort and started to pull her hand from his arm, but he dragged her hand back and covered it with his hand. He told her, "You'll go in there on my arm, Bella."

Her throat felt rather tight all of a sudden, and she whispered, "Yes, Master."

The two of them walked up to Castle Lestrange, where the front door was unlocked and propped open for the party. Inside, they could hear talking and music coming from the castle's ballroom, and they headed in that direction. Bellatrix's heart hammered as they approached the ballroom, and when at last they did reach it, she thought her heart would stop. People caught sight of Lord Voldemort entering the ballroom, and they stopped what they were doing. They turned away from conversations; they stopped dancing. Witches curtsied and wizards bowed. The room went silent except for the music playing. Voldemort held up his left hand to greet and acknowledge people, and they rose. Bellatrix suddenly felt a hundred pairs of eyes upon her, taking note of the fact that she was being escorted into the party by Voldemort. She watched Rodolphus where he stood with pretty young Agnes Selwyn and read immediate shock upon Rodolphus' face.

She saw Lucius Malfoy and perceived a similar level of disbelief. In fact, that was what she saw from everybody - they were taken aback by the sight of Lord Voldemort, of all people, walking into the party with young, vicious Bellatrix Black on his arm. After all, she had been the intended of this party's feted wizard, and, after all, she was apparently his most valuable soldier.

"Would you care for something to eat?" asked Voldemort, as though he were completely unaffected by the stares and whispers that had broken out upon their entry. Bellatrix looked up at him and shook her head. Her stomach was entirely too anxious to be eating. She murmured quietly,

"Not hungry at the moment, Master."

"All right, then; let's dance." He led her out to the dance floor, and Bellatrix was completely shocked when he drew her into a very close dancing stance. He held her so near that she had to tip her head very far back to stare up at him; it was almost silly. She laughed a little and joked,

"I'm too short to dance like this with you."

He smirked a little and backed her up just a tiny bit. He shrugged and admitted, "I like keeping you close."

Keeping her close. There he was, talking about keeping her close again, just like he'd done a few times before. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes up at him, thinking again that there must be a prophecy. But Voldemort whispered down to her,

"There is no prophecy, Bella. I simply like to keep you close to me."

"Yes, Master." She nodded up at him, and then out of the corner of her eye, she saw her parents and Narcissa walk into the room. They watched her dance with Voldemort for a moment, and her parents said something quietly to one another about it as Narcissa hurried off toward Lucius. Bellatrix swayed with Voldemort and felt the warmth of his hand through the lace on her back, and she informed him, "Everyone has been talking about us since the moment we stepped into this ballroom."

"Good." Voldemort said the word firmly. "Let them all see."

"Let them see what, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort raised his eyebrows.

"That you are entirely mine." He bent down to kiss her forehead, shocking her, but when she tipped her head back in surprise, he shocked her further by locking his lips onto hers.

Bellatrix gasped against his mouth. He stopped dancing and held her face in his hands, and suddenly Bellatrix could feel and hear her heartbeat in her ears. She saw spots behind her eyelids. Her chest pulled, and she thought she was going to explode. He didn't push his tongue into her mouth, but he held the kiss for a good long while - long enough for every single person in the room to look over and see what he was doing. He finally broke away, cradling Bellatrix by the small of her back, and he whispered,

"Let's go get some wine."

"Wine. Yes. Wine." Bellatrix was so dizzy she could hardly walk, so she let Voldemort hold her hand as he led her off the dance floor, past disbelieving couples who had paused in their own dancing. He took her to a table full of wine glasses and handed her some red elf-made wine, which she accepted and started sipping straight away. He took his own wine, and suddenly Bellatrix realised they were still holding hands. She started to pull her hand from his, but he squeezed her fingers and demanded,

"Have you some objection to holding my hand, Bellatrix?"

"What? N-No, My Lord." Bellatrix shook her head vehemently and looked around the room. She saw people staring, ogling, whispering. Her own parents were gazing at her in complete wonder, their mouths dropped open where they stood with the Malfoys. Rudy Lestrange and his wife looked like someone had just lit their hair on fire; their faces were twisted with confused incredulity. Bellatrix's cheeks went hot with embarrassment and something else - a sick sort of pride. She was here with  _him_ , and they were all in wonderment at that. She was  _his_ , and none of them could believe it. He'd kissed her, and they were all full of shock. She was holding his hand, and it was a scandal. Somehow, it felt just a little delicious. Bellatrix decided to lean in.

"Shall we congratulate the happy couple?" she asked, and Voldemort gave her a knowing smirk. He dragged his thumb over hers and bent to kiss her forehead, whispering,

"You want to torture them like you torture your victims."

"Of course not, Master," Bellatrix purred, though of course he was right to a certain degree. He let out a low rumble of a laugh and pulled Bellatrix over to where Rodolphus and Agnes stood chatting with Narcissa and Lucius. As soon as they approached, Narcissa dipped into a curtsy and Lucius bowed respectfully. Rodolphus and Agnes did the same. Agnes was a beautiful creature with blonde hair and green eyes, and under normal circumstances, Bellatrix would have been immensely jealous of the other girl's looks. But these weren't normal circumstances; she was here with Lord Voldemort. She had the upper hand here. Narcissa eyed the way Voldemort and Bellatrix held hands, and Bellatrix squeezed a little. She said politely,

"Rodolphus. Agnes. The two of you will make one another so very happy."

"Thank you, Bellatrix," said Agnes awkwardly. She glanced up to Voldemort and stammered, "M-My Lord, what an honour it is to… to have you here."

"Of course," he said lightly. He pulled Bellatrix's hand up to his lips and kissed it. "We wouldn't have missed it."

Bellatrix felt her eyes go round as saucers at that, but she tried to conceal her own stupefaction. Was he being  _possessive_  of her in front of Rodolphus? Was Lord Voldemort kissing her and holding her hand to be  _possessive?_  Bellatrix's heart thudded. She found she liked this development.

"Bellatrix, you look lovely this evening," Rodolphus tried, and though Agnes frowned, Voldemort agreed vigorously,

"She does, doesn't she?"

"Thanks, Dolph. My Lord." Bellatrix smiled at the two wizards, feeling breathless, and she sipped from her wine glass. "So, when is the new wedding date?"

"August," said Agnes, and Bellatrix balked a bit.

"That doesn't give you very much time to get a dress or anything."

"No, it doesn't, but we're going to rush," Agnes said, forcing a grin. She sipped deeply from her own Champagne and declared, "It'll be fine. Everything will be fine."

"Well, if you need any help, please let me know," Bellatrix offered.

"How very kind of you, Bella," Narcissa noted. Lucius Malfoy was just staring at the way Voldemort was holding Bellatrix's hand, and he finally jerked to attention. He nodded. Bellatrix shrugged.

"Well, we won't keep you. I think I might like to dance again, if it pleases you, Master."

"If that's what you want, Bella, then it pleases me." Voldemort smirked down at her, and she laughed a little up at him. She shook her head playfully and insisted,

"My master is far too kind. Sometimes I wish I were a Legilimens to see inside his head and figure out what  _he_  wants."

"Let's just say I'm grateful you can't see all the things I want, Bella." Voldemort raised her hand and kissed it again, and she shivered. He'd just been terribly, terribly suggestive, right there in front of everybody, and he'd had no shame in doing so. She smiled up at him and whispered,

"Shall we dance?"

"Yes, we shall," he said quietly. He Vanished his own glass of wine and seized hers, Vanishing it, as well. He started to lead her away from the group, and Bellatrix said over her shoulder,

"Congratulations, Dolph and Agnes."

"Thank you." Agnes Selwyn waved and looked shocked, and Rodolphus' eyes welled just a little bit. Suddenly Bellatrix felt the slightest bit sorry for him. Perhaps Agnes would make him happy enough, and she was indeed very pretty, but she knew that Rodolphus had been very much looking forward to marrying her. Now, not only had Bellatrix been taken from Rodolphus, but Lord Voldemort had made quite a show out of claiming her in front of the boy.

As Bellatrix danced with Voldemort for three more songs, though, she couldn't feel too sorry for Rodolphus. All she could feel was lost - lost in Voldemort's arms, in his eyes, in the scent of books and leather and the sea. She felt swallowed up by him as he kissed her again between the second and third songs. He devoured her right there in front of her friends and family, and she didn't care. She was  _his_ , in her entirety, and she quite liked the idea of that.

She was bleeding, which meant they couldn't have sex tonight. That was a damned shame, she thought, though she started to imagine all the other ways she could give him pleasure. She was obviously distracted by those thoughts, because halfway through their third dance, Voldemort leaned down and whispered into her ear,

"Why are you fantasising about having my cock in your mouth, Bella? Not that I mind."

"Sorry." Bellatrix's cheeks seared hot, and she pulled back a little as she admitted, "Bad time of the calendar, you see, and I was thinking of… alternatives."

"Mmm. I like that… alternative." Voldemort curled up half his mouth, and Bellatrix grinned at him.

"Well, you've more than earned it, Master, after what you've done here tonight."

"What I've done here tonight is simply that I've exhibited what I know to be true. You are mine. Wholly and truly and entirely mine. No one else's, and completely mine. This must be distinctly understood." Voldemort's face was serious, but his voice was playful then as he said, "Still, I quite like your  _alternative._ "

"Well, it's yours whenever you want it," Bellatrix promised him, and he narrowed his eyes as he looked around the dying party.

"How about now?" he suggested, and Bellatrix nodded.

"Now sounds good, My Lord."

"Good. Let's go," he said, starting to pull her off the dance floor. "I've got rather a powerful craving for you tonight, Bella. I just might need you to spend the night."

She let her mouth fall open in surprise at that, following him out of the ballroom and out onto the front lawn of Castle Lestrange.

**Author's Note: Oh, my! PDA Possessive Voldemort really came through there, no? But he needed people to see that she was** _**his** _ **. We'll have a small lemon (nothing ridiculous) and some serious fluff coming up, and then it's back to Crazy Torturing Murdering Bellatrix as she attacks Muggles in the Midlands. How long before Voldemort admits to Bellatrix that there is a prophecy, and what will that mean for the two of them? Hmm… Thanks as always for reading and a BIG GIANT THANK YOU FOR REVIEWING!**


	7. I'll Stay Close

"Bella." Voldemort slammed his door shut and yanked Bellatrix through the door that led to his bedroom. He wanted her to act out her fantasy. Now. His cock was already swelling in his trousers. He needed the pleasure she had promised him. He'd aroused himself with the idea of it as they'd made their way back from Castle Lestrange to Malfoy Manor, as they'd climbed the stairs to his quarters. Now he wanted her - no,  _craved_ her - very badly indeed, and he found himself heated and frantic now. He pulled her into his bedroom and slammed that door shut, too. He whirled on Bellatrix and snapped down to her,

"So. You're bleeding. No sex, then. But you dreamed up quite an alternative, didn't you, Bella? Hm?" He snared his fingers into the hair she'd pulled back, and he murmured almost gently, "My cock in your mouth. Yes. I quite like the idea. Do it."

He said those last two words with a finality that left no room for argument, and Bellatrix gasped a little. She immediately sank down, descending to her knees. Her black tulle skirts billowed around her, and she looked so pretty staring up at him that Voldemort's throat went tight. He thought to himself that she was incredibly lovely, and that he did not feel foolish at all for the way he'd made moves on her at the party. Kissing her, holding her, touching her,  _claiming_  her right there in front of everybody had felt right, somehow. Or, at least, it had not felt very wrong. It had felt rather pleasant, smashing his mouth against hers where everyone could see. It had felt a bit thrilling in the best way to kiss her hand and to say that  _they_  wouldn't have missed the party. Somehow, he'd rather enjoyed attending as a couple with her.

And now she was gazing up at him, her lips full and shining and red. She would have enchanted her makeup to stay on, he thought, as he imagined her sliding her lips along his cock. He blinked a few times as he processed the idea of that, of her mouth on him, and he went so hard in his trousers that it ached badly. He gulped hard and took Bellatrix's face in his hands, and he whispered down to her,

"Pretty girl."

She smiled at that, a genuine smile that spread to her wide, brown eyes, and her fingers traveled inside his brocade robes to the buttons of his formal black trousers. He sucked in breath and murmured,

"Make it good, Bella."

"I shall try, Master," she replied, and suddenly her face was very nervous. Voldemort shucked his embroidered outer robe and let it pool on the ground around him, making way for her to access his trousers more easily. She did just that, unbuttoning more quickly and pulling out his hardened, excited cock. She gripped it tightly in one hand as her other hand yanked downward on Voldemort's trousers and underwear. He leaned back against the wall for support and pressed his palms onto the wallpaper, watching Bellatrix adjust his clothing as she gripped his cock. She stared at the tip for a long while, and then she bravely poked her tongue out of her mouth and swirled it round the end of his cock as though she were licking ice cream.

"Mmph." Voldemort tipped his head back against the wall. That felt good. Merlin's beard, that felt good. She did it again, swirling around the tip and then suckling a little bit. Voldemort let out a low whine of pleasure, and she knew she had him hooked. She sucked his tip harder into her mouth, and Voldemort's hands flew back to her hair. He was mussing her hairstyle, he knew, but he couldn't care. He gripped the sides of her head and watched as her eyes came up to meet his. She stared up at him as she began to bob her head up and down on his cock, and when his tip bumped the back of her throat, instead of gagging, she made a delightful swallowing motion. That was too much. It was perfect. Voldemort let out a choked noise at that, and when she did it again, he thought for sure he'd come. Bellatrix began to trail her well-lubricated hand behind her mouth, and her other hand went up beneath his shirt to caress his belly. That felt nice, too. This entire endeavour felt nice, Voldemort thought.

Soon enough she was stroking at his stomach with one hand whilst the other hand followed her mouth up and down the shaft of his cock. Her throat tightened rhythmically around his tip, swallowing him down every time she could, and it was so much. Too much. Just enough to breathe. Voldemort threw his head back, knocking his skull against the wall and not caring. He bucked his hips forward and declared,

"You had best decide whether you like the taste of a wizard's come, Bellatrix, because in a moment, you won't have a choice about it."

"Mmm…" She hummed onto him, sounding thirsty, and that did him in. The way she growled her want onto his flesh was the very last straw. He shut his eyes and tried to breathe as his balls drew up against his body. Everything went so tight that he could hardly think, and then everything detonated. He forced his eyes open, staring down at Bellatrix as she stared up at him, and he rather apologetically gave her a look as he felt his come pump into her mouth. But her eyelids went heavy and fluttered shut with satisfaction as she gulped it down, and suddenly Voldemort decided she was the very best servant that had ever existed. He craved her more in that moment than ever before, and as she pulled her mouth off of him, her lips swollen but still shiny scarlet, he murmured down to her,

"You are a very, very good girl, Bella."

She grinned self-consciously, bowing her head. "I only want to please you. Master."

"Well. That you have done." He tucked his still-hard cock into his trousers and lamented the fact that he couldn't please her back. Not tonight. He licked his bottom lip and eyed the bed, and he told her carefully, "You should stay."

Bellatrix slowly rose up off of her knees and stared at the bed. She flicked her eyes between it and Lord Voldemort and whispered,

"I haven't got a nightgown, My Lord."

"You'll wear one of my shirts." He tipped his head up, and Bellatrix's eyes went wide with wonder. Voldemort stepped over to his wardrobe, pulled it open, and took out a plain grey tunic. He handed it over to Bellatrix, who held it and looked as though she wanted to smell it. She breathlessly wet her bottom lip and kicked off her high heels, and then she asked meekly,

"May I be excused to the bathroom, Master?"

"Of course," he said primly, and he watched her go. His heart pounded in his chest whilst she was in there. He started to undress himself, to strip off his formal shirt and trousers that he'd worn beneath his outer robe. He kicked off his dress shoes and stripped off his socks. He Banished them all to the laundry hamper and pulled on black flannel pyjamas over his underwear. He cleared his throat and Scoured his teeth with his wand as he walked over to sit on the edge of his bed.

Was he really going to play sleepover with her? To what end? She'd already sucked his cock until he found his release. She wasn't available for any more sex. Why was he commanding her to sleep in his bed tonight? Voldemort frowned. He needed to keep her near to him. That was why. And besides, he didn't owe anyone an explanation. Not even himself. He sighed heavily as Bellatrix came walking out of the bathroom with her dress and tights folded neatly in a stack, wearing nothing but Voldemort's grey tunic, which nearly touched her knees.

His breath caught at the sight of her in his shirt. He remembered the way she hadn't gagged on him when she'd swallowed his come. She smelled like peppermint now; she'd obviously Scoured and Freshened her mouth. He could kiss her, then. Why did that sound so delectable right now? Why was  _she_  so delicious? Voldemort watched her set her dress and tights down by her shoes, and then she came round the bed and climbed up on the other side. She knelt on the bed and whispered,

"Shall I send an owl to my parents to let them know where I am, My Lord?"  
"They know you're with me," he said firmly. He lay down and slithered beneath his heavy blankets, and he encouraged Bellatrix to do the same. Once they were covered up, he faced her and decided, for some bizarre reason, that she needed to know the truth. Something compelled him to tell her what was real in all of this. He reached for the lip she'd Scoured of lipstick, dragging his thumb over it. He neared her, smelling peppermint as he did, and he touched his lips to hers. She tasted good, the cold winter fresh upon her, and he kissed her again, more deeply this time. He dragged his tongue along her lip and heard her moan just a little, and when he pulled back just a bit, his voice vibrated against her mouth.

"There is, in fact, a prophecy."

He let that fact hang between them for a long while whilst her breath quickened and shook. Her hand went to his cheek, and she finally asked,

"What sort of prophecy, Master?"

Voldemort pulled farther back and studied her eyes. They were wide and curious. Beautiful. He cleared his throat a little and recited from his impeccable memory,

" _She who is most loyal to the Dark Lord is she whom he needs most of all… He needs her beside him, and she must belong solely to him. Without this most loyal servant, his failure is certain… Further does she creep, farther does he fall. Withering like winter without her he will be. She craves him in the depths of her being, and time it is for him to crave back. She who is most loyal to the Dark Lord is she whom he needs most of all…"_

Why had he told her? He panicked all of a sudden as Bellatrix's eyes went round as the Moon. Voldemort was suddenly absolutely terrified by what he'd done in telling her the prophecy. Only he should know of it, he told himself. Only he should know that this prophecy existed. It was why he'd Obliviated Abraxas Malfoy, and why he was about to Obliviate Bellatrix. He reached for his wand, and then he froze.

No.

She needed to know. She should know because if she knew, she could help him strengthen the outcome. She could help him ensure that she stayed close, loyal,  _his_. She could help him see to it that he was successful, that he did not fail. After all, Bellatrix Black wanted nothing more in all the world than her master's success. So she would follow him to the ends of the Earth, including whatever that prophecy demanded of her.

"Master?" Bellatrix squeaked. "That's the prophecy? I am… I am the one referenced?  _She who is most loyal to the Dark Lord_ … you think it's me?"

"Who else could it possibly be?" Voldemort snapped, setting down his wand. "What other female is half so loyal to me as you, Bella?"

She started to cry silently then, and she just nodded. She whispered,

" _He needs her beside him, and she must belong solely to him._  This is what you've been quoting, what you've been referencing."

"Yes." Voldemort reached over to hold her cheek in his hand. "And the prophecy spells doom for me, Bellatrix, if you belong to anyone else, or if you drift away from me.  _Without this most loyal servant, his failure is certain… further does she creep, farther does he fall. Withering like winter without he will be._  And I do crave you, Bellatrix; I do. I do."

He kissed her very hard then, so hard that she squealed against him. He rolled her back against her pillow, messing her hair and not caring. He grasped at a breast through his tunic and hummed onto her mouth as his tongue searched her lip. She grabbed at his shoulders for purchase and finally ripped her mouth away, murmuring,

"I'll stay close. I'll stay yours. Forever. I will not let you fail."

"Good girl." He nodded and rolled back, bringing her with him. She was breathless as she rolled atop him, straddling him even though she couldn't actually ride him properly just now. She started to roll her hips against him a little, and Voldemort huffed roughly. He gripped her waist and suddenly wanted nothing more than to be inside of her. Soon, he thought. Soon, he would be, and soon after that. He'd have her often, for a great long while. She was  _his_. Just like the prophecy ordered.

"Bellatrix," he said through gritted teeth, and she shook her head as she tipped it back and let her hair fall from its chignon. Her curls tumbled over her back, and she said determinedly,

"I will  _not_ be the reason anything bad happens to you, My Lord. I am wholly and entirely yours, just as the prophecy foretells I must be. And I shall be more than glad about it, believe me. I shall stay very near you, and serve you faithfully always, so that you will succeed."

Voldemort yanked her down off of his waist, and she landed with an  _oof_  on the bed beside him. He kissed her rather frantically, and this time, she pushed her own tongue back into his mouth. He groaned and pulled back from her to whisper down to her,

"You'll attack those Muggles tomorrow afternoon, if the weather's fair."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded, red-cheeked and glassy-eyed with want. She curled up alongside him, and it took quite a long while before Voldemort's heart slowed down enough for him to think about shutting his eyes. By the time he did, he quickly lost himself to sleep. He was so relieved at having told her, at having loosed the truth to her, that sleep came like a drug washing over him. And she was right there, right there beside him where she was meant to be, her leg crossed over his and her arm over his chest, her peppermint winter breath cool on his neck where she was curled.

Lord Voldemort had never slept so deeply in all his life, and when in the morning he woke, he was shocked to see that it was half past eight and he'd been unconscious for so long. Bellatrix didn't stir beside him, and for a few moments, he didn't wake her, loathe to undo the blissful tangle in which they found themselves.

After all, she was beautiful, and she was intelligent, and she was loyal, and she was  _his…_

And now she knew the truth.

**Author's Note: Ahhhh! She knows about the prophecy! Certainly seems like this will only strengthen them, right? But, uh, raise your hand if you have a bad feeling about this Muggle attack. Hmmm… Thanks as always for reading. Thanks a million times over for reviewing. I can't tell you how much I value your feedback.**


	8. Not According to Plan

Bellatrix studied herself in her mirror at her parents' house. Was she appropriately dressed for blowing up a row of shops in the Midlands, she wondered? She smirked. Yes. Her leggings and boots and tunic and skirt spelled danger. She looked like a soldier today.

She looked like  _his_  soldier today.

She tipped her head up as she braided her hair over one shoulder and tied it with a leather lace. She pulled her wand from the holster at her hip and held it steadily in her right hand. She shut her eyes and imagined the place where she was going - Weobley, Herefordshire. It was a picturesque little village full of Tudor houses and shops leaning on one another. And Bellatrix was going to blow it all up. She imagined Weobley, squeezing her eyes shut, and she Disapparated.

When she came to, she was standing in the middle of a sunny side street, empty as far as Bellatrix could see. She was in front of a house with a blue door and flowers in boxes out the front windows. Bellatrix aimed her wand at the flowers and withered them with a muttered spell, giggling to herself as the flowers died. She skipped a bit down the road as she made her way toward the bustle of the high street she could hear. She hummed as she skipped, thinking to herself that she was going to find the best-positioned Muggle automobile and blow it to bits. She was so looking forward to the sound of breaking glass, to the fires, to the screams, to the -

"Bellatrix Black?"

She froze. She whirled around, her wand aimed out before her.

" _Expelliarmus!"_

Bellatrix's wand went soaring out her hand and zoomed toward a middle-aged witch who stood up the hill, up where Bellatrix had just come from. Beside her were three wizards, one in his twenties and two much older. Bellatrix glared at them and said angrily,

"Give me back my wand."

"Miss Black," trilled the witch, a Scottish woman Bellatrix didn't recognise, as she tucked Bellatrix's wand away, "Ye will be coming with us."

"I very well will not!" Bellatrix exclaimed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Just who do you think you are?"

But she knew. They were Aurors. Of course they were; who else could they be. Rather shockingly, though, the witch answered her,

"I'm Gavina Robertson from the Department of Mysteries. These three wizards are Aurors. And ye will be coming with us, lass."

_The Department of Mysteries?_  Bellatrix panicked. She whirled to her right and tried to Disapparate, but it was hopeless without a wand. She wasn't powerful enough for that sort of wandless magic. Two of the wizards laughed at her as she tried fruitlessly to leave, except for the eldest man, who glared at her with savage hatred. He aimed his wand at her and said in a low, booming sort of voice,

" _Stupefy!_ "

Bellatrix flew backward and hit the cobblestones, and then everything went black and quiet.

* * *

"Is the prisoner secured?"

"These ropes have been Conjured with good, solid magic. She's not going anywhere."

"And she's been dosed with potion to knock her out cold?"

"She should be unconscious for some time, yes."

Bellatrix could hear the voices talking, but she couldn't do anything to make them stop. She couldn't move. She couldn't open her eyes. She tried to scream, but that didn't work, either. She tried to call out through her Dark Mark for her master, but of course that did nothing. A long while later, she heard some more voices.

"What's that pale pink mark upon her forearm?"

"It's his mark. He puts it on his followers."

"Have we tried activating it in some way?"

"No; we think that will call him here, and that's the last thing we want - to give away her location."

"Right."

Bellatrix tried her damndest to shriek, to call out, to thrash her arms and legs wildly where she lay. She was in some sort of bed, she came to realise. She was lying on some sort of uncomfortable bed to which she was lashed by a few strong Incarcerous Spells. Bellatrix tried to sit up, failed, and frustratedly growled inside her mind. She listened as the voices around her - one being the Scottish witch, Robertson - talked to one another.

"Remind me, Robertson, what precipitated the capture of Miss Black."

"We had a prophecy delivered, Mr Parker. A few months ago. It was quite clear.  _She who is most loyal to the Dark Lord will strike in Weobley, at three in the afternoon after the first sunrise of April. Her nearness to him must you fear with your might. The nearer she grows to him, the stronger he becomes. To vanquish his Darkness, she must be torn asunder from him. She who is most loyal to the Dark Lord will strike in Weobley._ "

"You've been sitting on that prophecy for months without telling us about it?" asked Parker, and Robertson replied,

"We had to figure out what it meant, Mr Parker - that is, the Department of Mysteries had to determine that the prophecy needed to be passed on to the Aurors, and I worked with them to determine who was being referenced in the prophecy."

"And? You figured out that it was Bellatrix Black?" asked Parker.

"Well. Albus Dumbledore figured it out, or knew. He told Holbrook and Seacombe, after they visited him to ask for advice on the matter. He said that the witch who was most loyal to Lord… to  _him_  was Bellatrix Black."

Bellatrix wanted to scream more than ever from where she lay.  _Albus Dumbledore? A prophecy?_  What was this madness? She had been prophesied to strike Weobley on the first of April, and that same prophecy described her the same way the Dark Lord's prophecy had done. The nearer she was to him, the stronger he would be. If she was separated from him, he would flounder and fail.

And these villains, Bellatrix thought to herself, had done everything they could to make sure Voldemort would fail. They had separated Bellatrix from him and lashed her to a bed somewhere. Where she was, she had no idea. But she knew that she was somewhere chilly, and somewhere that smelled like cold stone. She blinked her eyes open at long last and found herself staring at a black tile ceiling.

The Ministry of Magic. She was inside the Ministry of Magic. She knew that much, because her own father had told her that the interior of the Ministry was tiled dark. She stared up at the black tiles and listened as Robertson trilled to Parker,

"She's been here for thirteen hours now, and he hasn't come. We don't suppose he will -"

"Robertson," barked a new voice, and Bellatrix tried to sit up again to see what was going on. She heard someone say, "We've got to move her; it isn't safe here. Word is he's mobilising soldiers for an attack on the Ministry in the morning."

He was coming for her. Bellatrix grinned to herself and said in a hoarse voice,

"He's coming for me."

"What's that, girl?" burred Robertson, striding over quickly. She glared down at where Bellatrix was strapped to the table and then looked over her shoulder. "She's woken up. Get me more of the potion."

"Just Stupefy her again; we're going to move her," said the voice from the doorway. Bellatrix squirmed where she lay and said again,

"He's coming for me."

"Silence, girl!" Robertson aimed her wand at Bellatrix. Suddenly there was a bright green flash of light, and then the wizard, Parker, let out a horrified yell. Another green flash of light burst forth, and Bellatrix wondered what the blazes was going on. Robertson whirled round and aimed her wand at some unseen enemy, and then Bellatrix heard it.

His voice.  _His_  voice.

"I wouldn't do that, Miss Robertson. Put the wand down."

"Get out of this Ministry, you terrible old -"

"Right, then.  _Avada Kedavra!_ " Voldemort incanted the Killing Curse almost boredly, and Robertson slumped down, her head socking against the tiled wall as she fell. Voldemort quickly approached the bed where Bellatrix had been trapped, and he stared down at her with wide eyes.

" _Emancipare,_ " he incanted, and Bellatrix felt all of her bindings loosen and snap. She tried to sit up, but she couldn't. She shook her head a little and said helplessly,

"I can't move, Master."

"They dosed you with Paralysing Potion," he nodded knowingly. He scooped Bellatrix off the bed and into his arms, and he murmured, "I knew something was amuck when you didn't report back to me an hour or so after you were meant to carry out the attack. When night fell and still there was nothing, I went to your parents' house. They hadn't seen you. I went to the village. Nothing. No signs of an attack. I knew something was horribly wrong. And I knew you must be here, at the Ministry."

"Where am I?" Bellatrix asked, but then she answered her own question as he carried her out into a strange-looking corridor. "The Department of Mysteries. How did you know, Master?"

"Abraxas Malfoy got a tip from a coworker that Gavina Robertson and some Aurors were hunting down Bellatrix Black because of a prophecy that had been made."

He carried Bellatrix through an odd circular room and out into a vestibule, then through to a bank of lifts.

"Where's all the fighting?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort scoffed gently.

"What fighting?" he asked. "It's three in the morning." He walked into a lift with her and pushed a button, and suddenly they were rocketing upward. Bellatrix shut her eyes, curled up against Voldemort, and muttered,

" _She who is most loyal to the Dark Lord will strike in Weobley, at three in the afternoon after the first sunrise of April. Her nearness to him must you fear with your might. The nearer she grows to him, the stronger he becomes. To vanquish his Darkness, she must be torn asunder from him. She who is most loyal to the Dark Lord will strike in Weobley._ "

"Was that it? Was that their prophecy?" Voldemort asked, sounding just a little anxious as he stepped out of the lift into the vast, empty Atrium. Bellatrix nodded against him and whispered,

"They'll keep chasing me, My Lord. I'm a liability."

"You are a necessity, Bella." He sighed as he made his way toward the area where he could Disapparate. He reminded her, "There have now been  _two_  prophecies which insist that with you, I am successful and without you, I am a failure. There have now been two separate prophecies which dictate that you stay near me, and that you stay mine, if I am to reign the way I desire. I won't have you going on solo missions anymore, and about that I'm certain you're very disappointed. But we mustn't have you getting captured."

He Disapparated from the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, and when he came to outside of Malfoy Manor, he adjusted his hold on Bellatrix and looked down at her. He shook his head and walked up toward the manor, saying,

"It would be the very worst thing for me in all the world, Bellatrix, to lose you now. It would be the worst thing imaginable. And so it simply must not happen, you understand? Hmm?"

"Yes, Master," she replied. She felt some of the feeling coming back to her arms and legs, though certainly not enough to walk, and she mumbled, "I'm so sorry."

"It's nothing, Bella. It was just a few people to get rid of to get you back. But I mustn't lose you again. Ever. Under any circumstances. At all. So I won't."

He pinched his lips and stared ahead determinedly, and Bellatrix could read in his eyes that he meant it. He was not going to lose her again. She just had no idea what that meant, and what sort of prison she'd have to live in to accommodate the prophecies.

**Author's Note: Oh, my. So, Bellatrix's plot to blow up the Midlands really didn't go as planned. Lucky Voldemort got to her within a day, but it's like she says - what does this mean for her going forward? What is Voldemort going to insist upon in order to ensure that he doesn't lose Bellatrix again? Big changes are coming in Bella's life.**

**Thank you so very much for reading. If you get a quick second to review, I'd be very grateful. I can't tell you how thankful I am for those who have left feedback so far.**


	9. The Reverie

"Abraxas. Do come in." Voldemort snapped the hem of his velvet-trimmed black robe and sniffed lightly as his host and old compatriot stepped into his office. Abraxas Malfoy knew he was in a good position these days, Voldemort thought. After all, it had been Abraxas who had offered up his regal home as Voldemort's headquarters. It was Abraxas who had warned Voldemort that a prophecy had been made and that the Department of Mysteries and Aurors were hunting down Bellatrix. And Abraxas didn't even remember that he'd been the one to relay Cassandra Vablatsky's prophecy to Voldemort. So, yes, Abraxas Malfoy was riding a bit of a wave among Voldemort's Death Eaters.

Now the ice-blond and crisp-eyed wizard stepped up to the chair on the guest side of Voldemort's desk and waited to be given permission to sit. Voldemort decided to keep this meeting cordial.

"Do sit down," he said as warmly as he could manage, and he took his own seat opposite Abraxas. He folded his hands on the desk and tipped his head a little, cutting right to the meat of things. "Bellatrix Black has been in my quarters these last few hours; I recovered her from the Department of Mysteries and brought her back here. She is recovering from Paralysing Potion."

"Yes, My Lord; I expect she's far safer here than she would be at the Black family home," Abraxas nodded. "I've every reason to believe that work will be chaos today, given that you had to eliminate Robertson and those Aurors in order to rescue Bellatrix. There will be a manhunt underway for her, and the first place they'll go is her family home."

"Listen," Voldemort said quietly, leaning forward toward Abraxas. "That prophecy is dangerous. It states that without Bellatrix, I will fail. That means that anyone who wants to see me fail need only take Bellatrix from me to make it happen."

Abraxas' eyes went wide, and he nodded with realisation. "So she must be kept very safe indeed."

"Precisely," said Voldemort. "Under lock and key. She must be hidden away so that no one can find her. I need the Malfoy  _family summer home_ , Abraxas."

Abraxas' mouth fell open just a little. "You mean… The Reverie in Looe? In Cornwall? It's not even… registered with the… oh."

_Not even registered with the Ministry_ , he'd been about to say, and Voldemort pinched his lips as he nodded. The Reverie in Looe, a small resort town in Cornwall, was a place where the Malfoy men had spent generations taking their mistresses. Voldemort knew that only because Abraxas had let slip once when drunk that his family had such a cottage, but that he had no use for it since he was madly in love with his wife Caroline and had no mistress. Abraxas had taken Caroline and Lucius there for summers when Lucius had been small, but no one had been there except a House-Elf for maintenance in several years, so far as Voldemort knew. He gave Abraxas a very deliberate look and asked seriously,

"Do I need to get its location from you and then alter your memory, Abraxas, or can I trust you?"

Abraxas hesitated. He blinked a few times and gulped. "Master, I wish to be the finest servant for you that I can possibly be. I think perhaps it is best that I describe its location to you and that you then Obliviate this entire meeting from my mind. I do not wish for anyone - like Albus Dumbledore, for instance - to be able to see these memories from me. I do not wish to betray you, however unintentionally."

"Good man." Voldemort nodded crisply and asked, "Where is The Reverie?"

* * *

"They came here at six in the morning," said Druella Black tearfully. "They tore apart the house searching for her, looking for any trace of her. Narcissa's still home, and they interrogated her, asking her where her sister was. Well, of course poor Cissy didn't have any idea. None of us do."

"That's for the best," said Voldemort firmly, standing in the foyer of the Black family townhouse. He couldn't linger here, he knew. He licked his bottom lip and asked, "Was anyone hurt? Was anything damaged?"

"They broke a lamp or two, Master; nothing that we couldn't fix," Cygnus Black III assured him. "Is Bellatrix safe?"

"She is. They captured her in the middle of a mission." Voldemort said nothing of the prophecy; it appeared that the Aurors who had come to the Blacks' had said nothing of it, either. Good. "They intercepted her in a village where she was carrying out work. They took her to the Ministry of Magic and held her there for some time, but I was able to get there relatively quickly and free her. I've got her now."

"Oh, good. Will she be coming home soon?" asked Druella. Even Cygnus looked at his wife like she was mad then, and he scoffed,

"Druella, they're searching for her. Aurors. Why would she come back here? I trust the Dark Lord to keep her safe somewhere more discreet for now, don't you?"

"Oh. Yes. Of course." Druella pursed her lips, her hands trembling at her sides. "Do ask her to write to us later today and let us know she's all right, will you, My Lord?"

"No, Druella. I can't do that." Voldemort sighed and explained, "Bellatrix is going to be hidden away for some time. That means no contact whatsoever. No owls; they're far too traceable. No letters at all."

"Where will she be hiding, Master?" asked Cygnus curiously, and Voldemort just sighed.

"I can't tell you that, I'm afraid. All I can do is promise to keep her as safe and comfortable as I possibly can. She'll have everything she needs. This is for her own good."

The Blacks seemed profoundly uncomfortable with the idea that their daughter was some sort of prisoner in protective custody, but they bid their master a good afternoon before he left their home with an Expanded suitcase full of Bellatrix's belongings. He Apparated back to Malfoy Manor and made his way to Abraxas' office, which was smaller and humbler than his own. Abraxas wasn't there, and Voldemort reckoned the wizard was still at the Department of Mysteries pretending not to know anything about why multiple Aurors and other Ministry employees were dead and the apprehended prisoner was missing. He was pretending not to know about the prophecy that had prompted the hunt after Bellatrix in the Midlands. He was probably just standing around with a baffled expression on his pale face, pretending to be very aggrieved. Voldemort smirked at the idea of that, at the notion of his follower feigning complete ignorance about this whole matter.

Voldemort made his way up the winding staircase that led to the corridor where his quarters were, and when he reached them, he took out his wand and unwarded the door. He opened it to find Bellatrix sitting on one of the brown sofas with a book. She flew to her feet when she saw him, and he said rather gratefully,

"I see that dreadful Paralysing Potion's entirely worn off, then."

"Yes, it has, My Lord." Bellatrix set the book down on the sofa and eyed the suitcase in Voldemort's hand. He affirmed,

"I went to your parents' house. Got all of your clothes, shoes, and toiletries."

Bellatrix's cheeks went very red as she processed the idea that Lord Voldemort had Summoned her undergarments and personal items into a suitcase. She cleared her throat and muttered,

"Thank you, Master."

"Aurors went to your parents' house early this morning searching for you. They'll search everywhere for you. Eventually, they will search here. Someday, when someone in my inner circle betrays my location, they'll come here looking for me, and in turn you. And both prophecies make it very clear that, without you, I will tumble and fall from power. So anyone who wishes for my downfall will think that the easiest way to defeat me -"

"Is by separating me from you, however permanently," Bellatrix interjected softly. Voldemort nodded slowly. Bellatrix looked very afraid then.

"I am not afraid of dying, Master. I am not afraid of being assassinated. But I am afraid that if I were captured and thrown into some prison or dungeon, that the prophecies would come to pass and you would… you would…"

"Fail. Be defeated," Voldemort completed. Bellatrix shut her eyes.

"You must keep me very near to you, and I must be entirely yours," she reasoned, "but now there are prophecies known to your enemies, prophecies saying that the way to conquer you is to take me away from you. And so the only solution is -"

"To keep you safely hidden away," Voldemort said very firmly. "I would apologise, Bella, but I am not sorry. You are my most loyal servant. Serve me now in this capacity. You said it yourself. You must be near to me, and you must be entirely mine, and with this prophecy known to my enemies, the only way forward is to keep you locked away. You must understand that I am not in a position to do otherwise."

Bellatrix opened her eyes, and they looked damp with tears. She asked rather sorrowfully,

"Will I be locked in these quarters here, Master?"

"No. As I said, eventually they will come looking for you here," Voldemort pointed out. "I have a much more secure hiding-place for you. A place whose existence is known only to a select few - the Malfoys. I discussed the use of it with Abraxas and then wiped the conversation from his memory. I also Confounded him into not using it again until further notice."

Bellatrix stared curiously at him, her full lips parted, and she shook her head a little. "I'm to… to be warded up in a house by myself to keep me hidden away?"

"Not by yourself," said Voldemort, as though it were obvious. "I'll stop staying here at the manor. I'll spend my nights there, and I'll only come back here when I have meetings and missions. My residence will be there, with you, in secret."

Bellatrix blinked, seeming more bewildered than ever. The two of them were to live together in a secluded, secretive location, with the Dark Lord coming back to reality only for his work. Voldemort quirked up half his mouth at Bellatrix and approached her. He curled her hair back over her ear with his fingers and murmured,

"It won't be so bad, hmm?"

"No, My Lord; it won't be so very bad," she smiled back at him. Voldemort sighed and told her,

"I've taken down the Anti-Apparition Charms around Malfoy Manor for right now so that you don't have to leave these chambers to leave the grounds. I'm taking you by Side-Along Apparition to our new location. Let's go quickly; I don't like this place being unsecured for very long."

He held out his arm, and Bellatrix snared her hand through his elbow. She looked around, as though knowing that she wasn't going to see this place again for some time. Voldemort quickly Disapparated, and there was a black, pinching whirl. He imagined The Reverie, a white Georgian house right on the seaside in Looe, Cornwall. When they came to, Voldemort and Bellatrix were standing on the lawn outside the white house, with Cornish palms all around them. Voldemort turned a little and saw a rocky shore down below them with waves washing up calmly onto it. He hurried up to the double glass doors leading from the sunroom out onto the lawn, clutching Bellatrix's wrist and yanking her up to the house.

"Let's get inside; I haven't warded this place up yet," he reminded her. He used his wand to fling the glass doors open, and Bellatrix trotted to follow him into the house. Inside, she began walking about, exploring the sunroom and the dining room to which it led. Voldemort trailed after her, studying the elegant decorating that had been done in this, the place where Malfoy men had brought their women. He'd need to get them a House-Elf, he thought distantly. He'd have to have Abraxas or Cygnus discreetly take care of that for him. The kitchen, thinking of House-Elves, was a copper-and-stone covered French-style beauty. This house was magnificent, Voldemort thought to himself.

"It's lovely," Bellatrix mused, obviously thinking the same thing as him. She turned to face him in the blue and white parlour and asked, "This is the Malfoys' place?"

"Summer home," Voldemort fibbed. Then, sighing and deciding for some reason that he disliked lying to Bellatrix, he corrected, "It's where Malfoy men brought their mistresses. Abraxas doesn't have a mistress. He brought Caroline and Lucius here a few times, but it's been unused for a while. It's called The Reverie. We're in Looe, in Cornwall."

Bellatrix's lips parted, and she approached Voldemort, standing quite near him. She reached for the suitcase in his hand, and she said softly,

"Thank you for getting all my belongings, My Lord. I suppose I ought to unpack them, since I am to stay here."

"I expect there's a bedroom upstairs that you'll find to your liking," Voldemort nodded, staring down at her and marveling at how beautiful her wide brown eyes were.

"I must allow you to choose your bedroom first, Master," Bellatrix hummed. Voldemort lowered his mouth near hers and whispered,

"Why don't we go up there together and make our selections, hmm?"

Bellatrix nodded, releasing the suitcase back into his hand and threading her arms up around his shoulders. She kissed him delicately and murmured,

"It won't be so very bad, My Lord."

"No, Bella," he said, threading his fingers through hers and kissing her back carefully. "It won't be so very bad. Let's go upstairs."

**Author's Note: Who wants to see what happens during bedroom selection? Haha. So, poor Bella has to be locked up at the Malfoys' Mistress House, but Voldemort plans on spending his nights with her. So, as they've both said, "It won't be so very bad."**

**I'm at our lake house over the next few days, so I'm probably not going to be able to write until Monday. I'll do my best. In the meantime, please let me know what you think. I am so grateful for you reading and for your feedback.**


	10. It Suits You

"Oh, Master, this room is beautiful!" exclaimed Bellatrix. She walked into the bright, sunny white bedroom with its wispy white curtains around its spindly four-poster bed. The mahogany wardrobe against the wall matched the trunk at the foot of the bed, as well as the writing-desk and chair against the other wall. There was a full-length mirror and a mahogany dresser, as well. On the bed was a lovely handcrafted quilt in red, blue, green, yellow, and purple against a white background. The room felt…  _happy_. Bellatrix grinned at Voldemort, who sneered and pulled a face.

"This room is ridiculous," he scoffed. "You can certainly have it, with no complaint from me. I wouldn't touch it with a pole, thank you."

Bellatrix giggled madly and set her suitcase down. She turned toward him and asked,

"Well, is there another room up here more to your liking, My Lord? It looked like there were four bedrooms in total on this floor."

"I saw one in white and black; it seemed far more suited to me," Voldemort declared, and he went marching out of Bellatrix's room with its rainbow-coloured quilt. Bellatrix hesitated and then followed him, and she walked behind him down the upstairs corridor until they reached another room, this one on the right side of the house, away from the afternoon sun. Voldemort swept into the room and immediately rendered his verdict.

"Ah," he said. "Yes. Much better."

Bellatrix looked around and smiled a bit to herself. Yes, she thought. This room was perfect for him. Its far wall had been painted inky black, and the other three walls were white. The furniture was all slick, black ebony. The wide bed had sturdy square posts and a crushed velvet black blanket. The curtains on the windows were translucent black with ghostly white linings. The other pieces of furniture were stout and manly. This, Bellatrix thought, must have been the room that had belonged to the Malfoy men who had come here before. Now it was Lord Voldemort's.

"Perfect," Bellatrix purred from where she stood. Voldemort turned round to look at her, flicking his eyes up and down her form. He looked hungry all of a sudden, and Bellatrix prickled with excitement. Did he want her? Her nipples peaked inside her bra. She flushed wet between her legs. She wanted him; did he want her? She let her lips part a little, and she felt a word wash over her like a wave.

_Craving._

"Master," she said softly, and in response, he walked up to her and swept her into his arms. He threaded his right arm behind her back, yanking her closer, and his left arm pulled her near between her shoulder blades. She tipped her head up and pushed herself up onto her toes, and he bent down, his mouth meeting hers. He kissed her fervently, his teeth clacking against hers in his eagerness. He groaned a little against her, and suddenly Bellatrix realised that  _yes_ , he wanted her. She gasped and let his tongue into her mouth, let him graze it over the roof of her mouth and along her lips, and she moaned like a whore. Her hands searched his back as she pressed herself against him, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than for both of them to be naked.

Then she remembered a rather horrifying fact - she was still bleeding.

She'd been on the second day of her cycle when she'd attended Rodolphus' party, when she'd taken him in her mouth and spent the night in his bed. She'd gone to the Midlands for her attack on Weobley the next day and had been captured. Luckily, she'd had an effective Absorbency Charm in place throughout her kidnapping by the Ministry. But it was the next day now, the fourth day of her bleeding, and she would still be a disaster if he tried to have sex with her. Of course, it was  _possible_ , she tried to tell herself desperately as her head spun with desire. She was throbbing between her legs for need of him. She growled into his kiss with absolute frustration, and suddenly he pulled away and mumbled,

"You're not going anywhere, Bellatrix; there's all the time in the world for sex."

Her cheeks went hot as she realised he'd been inside of her mind. But she blinked up at him and whispered,

"I'm so sorry. I can take you in my mouth again; you seemed to enjoy it, Master, or I can -"

"I'm going to make you come," he said very seriously, and Bellatrix's jaw dropped. How was he going to do that? He pulled her by her hand over to the black leather armchair that was in the corner of the bedroom, and he sank down into it. He encouraged Bellatrix to follow him down, and on instinct she straddled him. She wormed her way down into the chair with him, pushing her knees into the small spaces beside his thighs. She sank down as he parted his robe, and she felt the bulge of his erection against her womanhood.

She tipped her head back and gasped a little at that feel, at the way he was so hard against her. She ground down onto him and he hissed with pleasure, muttering,

"Do that again. Harder."

Bellatrix pushed her hips down on him, cycling forward, and her vision blurred at the way it rubbed her clit to do so. She did it again, and her breath hitched. She leaned forward and fell into a kiss, her tongue threading its way into Voldemort's mouth as she moaned softly. Her hands went straight to his chest and held fast there, grappling for purchase against his robes as she pumped her hips down onto him rhythmically. She began to feel a growing sense of pleasure within her core as the grinding stimulated her clit and her walls. Voldemort's hands gripped at her breasts through her shirt and then ran down her rib cage. He was so hard beneath her that she could practically feel him throbbing through her leggings and his trousers. She broke away from their kiss and threw her head back, feeling a tight coil of heat in her belly.

"Oh, Master," Bellatrix gasped, and suddenly she couldn't move anymore. Voldemort gripped her waist in his hands and encouraged her to keep grinding, and when Bellatrix moved a few more times, pressing her clit against his erection three or four more pushes, she lost herself. She collapsed forward against Voldemort's shoulder and sobbed a little into his neck as she came. She threw her arms around his shoulders and kissed him there, massaging the skin under his neck with her tongue as she felt her walls clenching inside her knickers. Her ears flushed hot and rang, and her veins seared with pleasure. She couldn't speak or think for a moment, and then the high began to dissipate. Bellatrix pulled back from Voldemort's neck to see his face twisted in what looked like pain. He bucked his hips up hard and whispered desperately,

"Bella."

She knew he was finding his own satisfaction inside his trousers, which aroused her immensely to know. Her breath shook as she climbed slowly off of him and spied the dark wet spot on his black trousers where his come had leached through. She murmured softly,

"Oh, Master. Thank you."

"Bella." He looked dizzy, and his hand shook a little as he reached for his wand. He aimed it at his trousers, licked his bottom lip, and muttered a  _Scourgify_ and a  _Tergeo_  to clean himself up. He dragged his fingers through his hair and stared up at Bellatrix, and then he said rather tightly,

"Why don't you go get unpacked in your own room, hmm? We're to be here for some time."

She was being evicted from his space. Bellatrix just stared for a moment, for they had been so very intimate just seconds earlier, but she nodded quickly and whispered,

"Yes, of course, My Lord. Thank you. For the… thank you."

She turned and left his room, walking down the corridor and going back to her happy, sunny space.

* * *

Bellatrix claimed one of the upstairs bathrooms - there were three of them - as her own, and she unpacked her toiletries into it. There was a rather grand bathroom in black and white tile near the black and white bedroom, and so that one was determined to be the Dark Lord's bathroom. This bathroom was all white tile, and was much smaller, and so it would be Bellatrix's. It had a claw-foot tub with a white shower curtain, a white toilet and pedestal sink, a mirror on the wall, and a white wooden cupboard for storage. That was all.

As Bellatrix filled a shelf in the cupboard with perfume bottles and combs, she contemplated that she was, more or less, a prisoner here. The Dark Lord wouldn't let her leave even if she begged to do so. She was needed, she knew, to be near him and to belong to him. That was what the prophecies said. And now that the second prophecy was known to enemies of the Dark Lord - including Albus Dumbledore - Bellatrix was Target Number One. Eliminating her, or at the very least separating her from Voldemort, was key to vanquishing him. So she must be hidden away and kept in secret… not for her protection, but for Lord Voldemort's protection. It was a strange situation. But Bellatrix was Voldemort's most loyal servant. If she could no longer serve him in battle, then she would serve him by being  _his_  and by being here. She sighed as she cleaned her teeth and braided her hair and tied it up for the night, wondering just how long she would be required to serve her master from this place.

It was a lovely enough house. And Voldemort had said that he'd soon procure a House-Elf for them. Tonight, he'd made dinner from some canned tomatoes and a box of noodles that he'd found in the kitchen, put there by the House-Elf who had visited five months earlier. With some sugar and herbs, they'd wound up with a halfway decent pasta dish, and Bellatrix had been full by the end of it. She'd wished the Dark Lord a very good night, and they'd kissed for a long while before she'd come up to take a bath and finish unpacking her bathroom.

Now she crept back down the corridor to her bedroom and peeled back to technicolour quilt on her fluffy-looking bed. She climbed into the bed and pulled the quilt back over her, and she turned to face the window, staring at the moon over the ocean in the distance.

"Bellatrix?" came a voice from the doorway after a long while. "Are you awake?"

Bellatrix sat up immediately.

"Yes, Master."

He came walking into her room in his clothes from earlier and said,

"I've got to go back to Malfoy Manor and pack all of my clothes and things. I'll be back soon. I ought to have gone earlier, but… I don't know; I didn't want to… something compelled me to stay longer than I ought to have done."

"It won't be so very bad here, My Lord," Bellatrix promised him, staring at him through the moonlight. "I'll find things to do. I'll take up a new hobby. Something very intriguing. A new musical instrument, or painting, perhaps. Painting. I should like to learn to paint."

"Would you? I could get you paints and canvases," said Voldemort, "and spellbooks on enchanting your works. You'll have all the time in the world here for painting; I expect you could become very skilled at it."

"Well, I could certainly try." Bellatrix's eyes watered, and she blinked quickly a few times. "I could paint a portrait of you someday, Master, when I get good enough. That could be my goal - to paint you."

"Mmm-hmm." He stepped into her room, and he licked his bottom lip as he studied her. Then he looked around her room and declared, "This is a silly, stupid room, even for a young girl. When I get back from Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix, I want you waiting in my bed. Understood?"

Bellatrix's heart thudded, and she nodded quickly. "Understood, Master."

"Goodbye, then," he said. "Apparition point's outside, down by the sea. I'll be back soon." He whirled and walked quickly out of Bellatrix's bedroom, and she watched him go. She watched out the window as he stalked across the lawn and onto the rocks that led down to the sea, and then she watched him disappear into a black whirl. She hurried out of bed and quickly made up the quilt, and she rushed out of the room and down the corridor to the black and white room.

She breathed in the masculine scent that had already taken over this space - books and leather and the ocean - and she moved to the bed, knowing he preferred the right side. She pulled back the crushed velvet blanket on the left side and climbed in, and she waited for her master to come back. She waited for her master to come back to her prison, to the place where she was being hidden, to the place where they were to live together so that the prophecies could be fulfilled and he could succeed.

How very strange it all was, Bellatrix thought, lying down and staring at the ceiling, and as she waited, she drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note: I managed some quick writing time once everyone went to sleep at the lake house! Woo hoo! Not sure I'll get another chapter up until Monday, but at least I managed this one. :) Thanks so much for reading. I also just want to say a very sincere thanks for the feedback on this story. I am really so very grateful for the reviews I've received and will receive. Thank you, thank you, thank you.**


	11. Supplies

When Voldemort came back to The Reverie, an Expanded suitcase in his hand, he walked up the stairs and made his way down the corridor to the black and white bedroom. In the moonlight, he could see that Bellatrix was fast asleep in the bed, and his chest pulled a little. He set down his suitcase, deciding that he would unpack his belongings in the morning. He slowly undressed, peeling off one layer of clothing at a time, and when he was nude, he stared at the sleeping Bellatrix and began to get a little hard for her. She was so beautiful, after all.

He shook that thought away and Summoned his black flannel pyjamas out of his Expanded suitcase. He shut the suitcase and pulled the pyjamas on, and then he Scoured his teeth and approached the bed. Bellatrix was still sleeping, but the act of him crawling into the bed was enough to rouse her, and as he slithered beneath the crushed velvet blanket, she rolled over to face him. She smiled a little, looking lovely, and whispered,

"Hello, My Lord."

"Hello." He set his wand on the table beside the bed and faced her as he lay down. The prophecies said she was meant to be kept near. She must be near him in order for him to succeed. So he would spend his nights here with her, in this luxurious prison where she must be carefully hidden away. He reached to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Bellatrix's ear and thought out loud.

"I ought not to have sent you away," he murmured. "Earlier, before dinner, when I sent you out of this room so quickly, I ought not to have done so."

Bellatrix frowned, looking confused in the dim light. "Whatever do you mean, Master?"

"After the incident on the chair, I sent you away without hesitation, and I might have liked to… to talk with you a bit," Voldemort said, almost uncomfortably. Bellatrix's lips parted a little, and she repeated,

"To talk with me?"

"Yes. It is not so very often that you and I simply talk, is it?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix shook her head.

"What would you like to talk to me about, My Lord?" she asked, and Voldemort shrugged and sighed heavily. He finally asked in a rush,

"What's your favourite colour?"

She smirked a little. "Black."

He scoffed. "You'd never know it, what with that rainbow quilt room you chose when we arrived here."

Bellatrix laughed softly and said, "I just liked the light in there. I expect your favourite colour is also black, My Lord."

"No," he corrected her. "Green. Emerald green."

"Slytherin green?" she prompted knowingly, and he nodded, running a knuckle along her jaw and feeling her shiver.

"Salazar Slytherin Green, yes. What else shall we talk about? Tell me what you enjoy doing for fun."

"Torturing prisoners," Bellatrix said at once. "Though I realise that's out of the question from now on. Once upon a time, at Hogwarts, I was  _very_  good at hiding out in the library and pretending no one else existed. That was fun."

"You were not social," Voldemort nodded, and Bellatrix affirmed,

"Friends were a distraction from my goal of joining your movement as soon as you'd have me, My Lord."

For some reason, what she said sent a shock down his spine. He gulped and reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. He wanted to know more about her, for some reason. He wasn't sure why. He just did. He sighed and asked Bellatrix,

"What foods do you like? I'll be certain to stock the kitchen with foods you like, once we've a House-Elf."

Bellatrix smiled weakly and insisted,

"Surely we must have the food  _you_  enjoy, Master."

He leaned forward to kiss her softly upon the lips, tasted winter on her, and whispered,

"Tell me what you like to eat."

Her eyes went a little wide, and he realised there was some suggestion behind what he'd said, in a roundabout way. He gulped and smirked a little at her, and he asked again gently,

"What do you like to eat, Bella?"

"I like a good steak," she said, and her voice was like syrup. His lips parted a little, both at the idea of steak and at the way she was talking. She continued, "With buttery mashed potato. I like clams with linguine noodles. I like pumpkin pasties and beef pies. I like to drink lemonade and eat sweet vanilla cookies."

"How on Earth do you stay so slim?" asked Voldemort with a little laugh, and in the moonlight, Bellatrix's face was cheerful.

"Everything in moderation, Master," she said playfully. Voldemort sucked in breath and squeezed at her fingers.

"Steaks and potatoes, clams and noodles, pumpkin pasties and beef pies. Lemonade and cookies. We shall have the lot," Voldemort promised. Bellatrix whispered into the night,

"I adore you, you know."

He blinked. "Yes, I do know."

Bellatrix stared at him and dragged her thumb over his under the blanket, making him shiver a little. Suddenly he felt something strange. He felt an attraction to her that ran deeper than an admiration of her looks, deeper than affection for her battle skills, deeper than appreciation of her loyalty. He felt something else. He felt a sincere  _liking_  of her, all the way to her core. He felt an almost weighty want of her that went far beyond the sexual. He wasn't going to mind it one bit, spending his time here with her except for work. He wasn't going to mind it at all. He was going to quite like it.

"Bellatrix," he murmured, and she hummed back in response. He leaned toward her and kissed her lips gently, and he asked, "Shall I get you painting things tomorrow?"

"That would be very kind of you, Master," Bellatrix replied. "I would be very grateful."

Voldemort curled his arm around Bellatrix's body and pulled her near to him, and she sighed happily as her body was snuggled against his. He wrapped his arm round her and drew her up against his chest, and he kissed the top of her head.

"Bella," he whispered, "It won't be so bad, being here with you, I don't suppose."

"No, Master," she insisted back. "It won't be so bad."

* * *

"Abraxas. Just the man I needed to see." Voldemort watched Abraxas shut the office door, and the pale wizard smiled a little at his master as he came walking inside.

"You called, Master?"

"Yes. Have a seat," said Voldemort, and Abraxas immediately pulled out the chair opposite Voldemort and sat down. Voldemort asked him,

"What's the verdict at work, then? What's been going on since I rescued Bellatrix?"

"Well, they're continuing to look for her everywhere, My Lord," said Abraxas, "but they're not advertising her as an Undesirable. That's because they don't want to go plastering the prophecy all over the place. The Ministry is nothing if not proud. It's foolish of them to insist on keeping this internal, but that's what they're doing. However, it is worth bearing in mind that Albus Dumbledore and all his friends now know that there's a prophecy stating that if Bellatrix Black is near you, you succeed, and if she's taken away from you, you fail."

"That's why I want to organise a squad to eliminate Dumbledore. I realise he's protected at Hogwarts. But I want to put together a group of five or six whose entire goal is to bring me Dumbledore or to kill him."

"Forgive me, Master, but… what about Lucius?" asked Abraxas Malfoy, and Voldemort raised his eyebrows.

"What about Lucius?"

"He's got another year at school," Abraxas pointed out. "He could access Dumbledore from the inside. Assassinate him from inside the castle. It might work better than an external squad."

"He's still home for the Easter holiday?" Voldemort asked crisply, and Abraxas gave a calm nod. Voldemort curled up his lips and said, "Bring him to me. He and I will discuss the possibilities open to Lucius in terms of accessing the good headmaster at school. He can't just blast him with a Killing Curse in the middle of the Great Hall. He'll have to get  _very_  creative. But we've been creative before. We can be creative again."

"Certainly, Master," Abraxas nodded. Voldemort drummed his fingers on his desk and said,

"Whilst I'm meeting with Lucius about Dumbledore, I need you to go shopping for me." He opened a desk drawer, knowing the Prophecy Record was in the bottom drawer, and he pulled out a small sack of money. He pushed it across the desk to Abraxas and said, "I have a list of things I need you to buy."

"Anything, My Lord." Abraxas eagerly took the money, and as Voldemort reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a folded parchment, Abraxas sniffed a bit. Voldemort handed over the shopping list, and Abraxas frowned down at it, reading it aloud.

" _Sketch pad, pencils, sharpener, canvases, oil paints in many colours, a variety of painting brushes, turpentine, charcoal pencil, palette, easel…_  I shall need to pack all of this into an Expanded bag for you, Master."

"Then do," Voldemort said sharply. "I need all of those supplies. And I'd also like you to procure a House-Elf for me and bring it back here. I'll take it to the hiding place where I'm keeping Bellatrix."

"Of course, Master. I'll get all of this." Abraxas hesitated a moment and then said, "I did not realise you were a painter, sir."

"I'm not." Voldemort left it at that. For all he knew, Bellatrix couldn't paint to save her soul, so he wasn't about to call her a  _painter._

But he would bring her paints and brushes and an easel and canvas. He would bring her all the things she needed to at least keep herself occupied, because he was going to keep her locked away in that house in Cornwall for an indefinite period of time. She was  _his_ , and she must stay near him in that house with the ridiculous rainbow bedroom.

His meeting with Lucius went quite well. The boy was eager to fulfil the task of murdering Albus Dumbledore. It seemed as though all he needed was permission to be set loose, and then he'd begin scheming and conniving his way to his goal. Voldemort decided to give the boy a few months to work at it before he formulated a task force to address Dumbledore. Indeed, he thought it best that his movement lay low for the time being. There was quite a bit of heat from the Ministry just now, and the last thing he needed was for something to happen in a battle that would lead them to Bellatrix. He needed the Ministry to back off just a little before the next attack, the next intimidation move. So he let his followers lie.

When Abraxas came back with the painting supplies, he also came back with a squirmy little House-Elf who was apparently called Ronky. Abraxas kicked the House-Elf into Voldemort's office and spat,

"Meet your master, Elf. You serve the Dark Lord now."

"Thank you, Abraxas; that will do. The painting supplies, if you please, and then you may go."

Voldemort rose and took the bag of painting supplies from the bowing Abraxas, and when he shut the office door, he barked down to Ronky,

"You serve Mistress Bellatrix and I now."

"I serve a family, sir," Ronky countered. "Are you and Mistress Bellatrix family?"

"We're as good as," Voldemort said hotly, his ears ringing. "We live in the same house and we… yes, she and I are… you serve us both. You will listen to orders from Mistress Bellatrix and I both. Understood?"

"Yes, Master." Ronky nodded and knitted his spindly fingers together. Voldemort crouched down and looked the House-Elf in the eye.

"I swear you to secrecy about where you are going. Tell no one, ever. Pain of death. Go to the Reverie, a house in Looe, Cornwall. There you will find Mistress Bellatrix. Give her this. Tell her it's from me."

Voldemort handed over the bag of painting supplies, and the House-Elf nodded quickly, Disapparating with a snap and a spark. Voldemort stared at the spot where the elf had been, and his stomach twisted oddly. He wondered what Bellatrix was doing right this moment to occupy herself. He wondered what she would think of her painting supplies. He wondered what she would think of the House-Elf.

And then it occurred to him that he cared perhaps just a little too much what Bellatrix Black thought about everything, and he shut his eyes and pressed his wand to his Dark Mark, calling Yaxley for a meeting about the Aurors.

**Author's Note: Was this written drunk on New Year's Eve? Yeah. It was. Sorry about that. Will tomorrow's chapter be written sober. Yes. I promise. :) Happy New Year! May 2019 bring you happiness and success in every facet of your life! Thank you for reading and a HUGE thanks for reviews!**


	12. Maelstrom

Bellatrix brought her paintbrush up onto her canvas and moved it in short little strokes to make the top of a wave. She stared out toward the sea smiled a little, knowing she'd got the colour just right. The sea today was jade green, and the sky was crystalline blue with milky white around the sun. Bellatrix had sketched a Cornish palm on the left side of the painting, but she hadn't even begun to fill it in yet. She'd been out here on the lawn of The Reverie for three hours now, sketching and painting, and her hand was cramping up badly. She wasn't accustomed to painting, so the angle of the easel and the grip of the brush were taking their toll on her wrist. She cleared her throat and dipped her brush into the sea foam green paint on her palette, bringing it up to the canvas to fill out more of her wave.

"Painting the sea. My goodness; you certainly mixed the colours up perfectly. That sky looks lovely."

Bellatrix whirled round in the dining-room chair she'd brought out here, and she flew to her feet as Lord Voldemort came stalking down the path that led to the lawn. He'd been at Malfoy Manor for the last few hours, Bellatrix knew, but he'd evidently finished his work. She smiled at him and gestured toward her painting, declaring,

"It's not exactly advanced work, filling in a cloudless sky painting ocean waves, Master."

"But that palm you've sketched is perfect," said Voldemort, walking up to her easel. "Well done."

"Thank you," she murmured. She was embarrassed then, for she had splatters of paint on the khaki-coloured apron she wore, and she glanced down at her messy hands. She'd tied her curls up on top of her head so the wind wouldn't blow them into her eyes whilst she painted. She was a disaster. She tipped her head and said,

"I've finished for today, I think. I want to let this bottom layer of blue and green dry before I add more dimension to the waves and start on the palm tomorrow. I need to clean up."

"Allow me," said Voldemort smoothly. He flicked and waved his wand a few times, and suddenly a series of events occurred. Bellatrix's open palette snapped shut, the lid protecting the paints from drying out until tomorrow. Her brushes were all Scoured clean and dry. Her apron and hands were washed with magic, as well, and her apron untied itself and folded. All the supplies, from the palette to the painting and easel, went soaring into the sunroom, and Bellatrix watched as they neatly arranged themselves in the corner of the space. Voldemort flicked his wand again, and her apron went flying in there and landed on the divan. The chair soared inside and disappeared, evidently going back to the dining-room. Bellatrix laughed a little and shook her head as she pushed a few stray strands of hair out of her eyes. She murmured at Voldemort,

"Your magic is strong and powerful, My Lord."

"Putting away painting supplies? That's nothing," Voldemort said, throwing up one eyebrow. He looked around and noted, "Beautiful day. I've been stuck in an office for hours. Shall we have lunch out here?"

Twenty minutes later, they were seated at the wrought iron table on the patio, with plates of salad and crab cakes before them. They had glasses of white wine, too, and as Bellatrix took a sip of hers, she stared out at the beautiful ocean she'd been painting all morning and declared,

"This place is positively stunning. I can see why the Malfoy men brought their mistresses here. I certainly wouldn't mind being brought here as a mistress."

"You'd be a mistress, would you?" Voldemort looked surprised as he speared a bite of greens. He chewed them, swallowed them, and asked, "You'd be the kept witch of a married wizard? I can't see that in you, Bellatrix, playing second fiddle to someone's wife."

She laughed a little. "No. You're right. I'd become entirely too jealous. I much prefer being the prophesied  _necessary one_  to my master and serving him by painting badly at this amazing house."

He gave her a little quirk of a smile at that, and he took another sip of his own wine. Then he dabbed at his lips and informed her,

"Lucius Malfoy goes back to school tomorrow. Easter holiday is over. I don't expect results from him immediately, but he's going to begin strategising. Planning. Coming up with notions on means to the end. I have confidence in the boy's enthusiasm, if nothing else."

"Lucius will grow to be a very good soldier for you, My Lord," Bellatrix said assuredly. "He is as devoted to your cause as I am. Of that I am certain. You can trust that he'll work very hard at the task of killing Dumbledore. He'll see it done. I have confidence that it will happen sooner rather than later."

"I admire that confidence." Voldemort used his fork to cut a bite of crab cake, which he ate slowly. He cleared his throat and told her, "I like your confidence in me, Bellatrix, and I like your devotion. I am actually quite sorry to have pulled you out of service in order to keep you here. You were, without question, my very best foot soldier and my most skilled interrogator. I shall miss having those skills from you at my disposal. It is not to say that your service here - fulfilling the prophecies - is not critically important, because it is. But I know full well that you'll miss torturing people and blowing things up, casting curses in battles. I know. I'll miss that from you, as well."

Bellatrix felt her eyes sting, but she took a quick bite of arugula and frisee and set her fork down. She shrugged and said as lightly as she could,

"We all must serve you where we are needed. Lucius Malfoy is needed to assassinate Albus Dumbledore from inside Hogwarts. I am needed here, to fulfil the prophecies. I must be near to you and be wholly and entirely yours. And that is my service, which I shall complete with pleasure, Master. Any service to you is a pleasure for me."

He pinched his lips and sipped his wine, staring out at the sea. He just stared for a long while, and Bellatrix wondered what he was thinking. He finally set his wine glass back down and said,

"If you and I are to be in such close quarters for so long, Bella, I should like to know you better. I feel as though we are still rather strangers, you and I."

Bellatrix's cheeks went warm. She didn't feel like he was a stranger. She'd had sex with him. She'd ridden his lap until they'd both finished. She'd slept beside him, curled up against him. She'd whispered to him in the night. She'd danced with him. He was her master. How were they strangers? But she just nodded and asked,

"How shall we remedy that, My Lord?"

"I shall ask you a question to get to know you better, and you'll answer it. Then you'll do the same to me. Let us simply know one another more… more intimately," he suggested, and Bellatrix felt her skin prickle even in the warm air. She gulped and nodded again. Voldemort stared into her eyes, and she was suddenly struck by just how dark and piercing his gaze was. She flushed hot as he asked,

"What is your favourite childhood memory?"

Bellatrix curled up her lips and answered at once. "Meeting you."

"Meeting me?" Voldemort looked intrigued. "D'you mean that time in 1960 when Tom Riddle came visiting Cygnus Black III for dinner?"

"You told tales of your travels on the Continent," Bellatrix said excitedly. "You said you were going back there a few days after visiting us. You told us about dragons, and trolls, and… oh, you were so thrilling. I was thrilled. Cissy was too little to much care, I think. Andy was rude, I remember. But I was fascinated by you. Absolutely fascinated. And after dinner, in the parlour, you whispered to me that your name was… was…"

"Lord Voldemort," he finished proudly, and Bellatrix smiled wistfully. She held a finger to her lips and said,

" _Hush, little one,_  you said.  _It's our secret for now._ "

"Yes, I remember." Voldemort sucked on his bottom lip and scoffed. "How young I was still then. What, thirty-three? Time flies. I did go back to the Continent for some time after that, before coming back for good."

Suddenly Bellatrix was very aware of the age gap between herself and Lord Voldemort. She was twenty years of age now, and he was forty-five. A quarter century fell between them in lived experiences. Bellatrix felt like a silly little fool all of a sudden. It was her turn to ask a question, she realised. She swigged down some wine and asked,

"What was your favourite subject in school?"

Voldemort smirked a little at the odd question and jerked up one shoulder. He tipped his head and seemed to consider his answer. Finally he said,

"Defence Against the Dark Arts. A strange reply, I know. But it taught me more about the Dark Arts than any other subject in school did. Charms… I could have taught myself all that material from spellbooks, and I mostly did. Herbology was just an excuse to learn which plants intoxicated you. Transfiguration was obnoxious, since Dumbledore was teaching and he despised me to my core. Potions was all well and good, but it's not every day one goes about potioneering. So I'd say Defence Against the Dark Arts. There I learnt the foundation of the Dark Arts that I would later learn for real on the Continent."

"Where did you learn Legilimency and Occlumency?" Bellatrix asked, knowing she'd broken the rules and had asked two questions in a row. But Voldemort told her,

"They came very, very easily to me. Legilimency is a skill that comes only to those with a natural predilection for it. Occlumency is more easily acquired. Would you like me to teach you sometime?"

Bellatrix's mouth fell open. She nodded vigorously and exclaimed, "Oh, yes! I should like to learn anything and everything from you, Master! All the skills you'll teach me!"

"Well. We'll save that for a later date," he said. He sipped his wine again and pointed out, "It's my turn to ask a question. What's one accomplishment you completed that made you smile with pride?"

Bellatrix grinned broadly as a memory of a burning building flared inside her mind. She stared at Voldemort and told him,

"It was that time that I successfully used Fiendfyre on the house where four of our enemies were hiding. I remember the smell afterward. I remember the screams. I remember casting the Dark Mark into the sky above the shell of the house. You were so proud of me. You… you touched my shoulder and smiled at me, you were so happy with me."

"You feel pride at the memory because of my reaction," Voldemort pointed out. "Your own happiness about it all hinges on how happy you made me."

Bellatrix shrugged and nodded. "These last few years, Master, my entire existence has been wrapped up in you."

He seemed deeply affected by that, somehow. His eyes shifted, and his lips parted a little. He ate the last of his crab cake, and he muttered,

"What's your favourite drink? Lemonade?"

Bellatrix startled. She nodded and remembered the night before, telling him about lemonade and cookies. She said softly,

"Yes, I quite like lemonade. And you, Master?"

"Gin," he said simply, raising his eyes to her. "Gin mixed with all sorts of things."

She laughed a little, and he finally smirked a bit. He set down his fork and asked,

"Would you like an animal here? A cat or something? I can get you one easily."

"A cat." Bellatrix felt oddly emotional all of a sudden. She blinked quickly. "My parents always forbade cats in their house. My father's allergic, you see."

"Ah. Yes. I remember at Hogwarts he had quite a time with the other students' cats." Voldemort quirked up his mouth.

Bellatrix nodded. "But I've always wanted a cat. A black one with short silky hair. A male one. That's my dream cat, anyway."

"And what would you call this cat?" Voldemort asked.

"Maelstrom," Bellatrix answered immediately. Voldemort gave her a very knowing look and said,

"You've thought long and hard about this, about having a cat, haven't you?"

"Paints and a cat. You'll spoil me rotten, My Lord," Bellatrix complained, but her eyes welled heavily. "I couldn't accept -"

"Staying here in this house languishing away whilst all the action happens out there? I'm surprised you can accept it. But because you are a very good girl, accepting it the way you're doing, I think we can arrange for some painting supplies and a cat. It really, truly is no trouble. I wish for your happiness here, Bella. If you're to fulfil the prophecies, then I want you to be happy doing it. I do not wish for you to go mad in your confinement, nor for you to lose your adoration for me because of all this."

"I could never," Bellatrix whispered, but Voldemort smirked a little and suggested,

"How about I Transfigure my features and go to Diagon Alley, eh? No one will know it's me. I'm quite good with Human Transfiguration, thanks to Albus Dumbledore. I'll find you a cat and bring it back. It won't take me long."

"Oh, Master," Bellatrix tried to protest, but he was already standing from the wrought iron table. He nodded at her and made his way down across the lawn, down toward the rocks and the Apparition Point. Bellatrix watched him disappear into a black blur, and once he'd gone, her heart hammered inside her chest.

* * *

"Oh! Oh, my goodness! Oh, it's a little tiny kitten!"

" _Mrow!"_

"The only black shorthair they had was nine weeks old," Voldemort informed Bellatrix, passing over the miniature cat. It was a solidly black with shining green eyes, and as Bellatrix curled it into an arm, it meowed up at her again. Voldemort assured her, "He's a male. Call him what you like."

"Maelstrom!" Bellatrix exclaimed, and she held him near to her. She set him down on the ground, and he immediately set to exploring, running about the sunroom and chasing the shadow of the sea glass wind chime that was hanging just outside the door. Bellatrix laughed a little to see the inky black kitten playing, and she turned to Voldemort. Very much on impulse, she threw her arms around his shoulders, embracing him, and she whispered,

"Thank you."

Suddenly she realised what she'd done, and she started to pull away. But Voldemort wrapped his arms around her and held her close, and he murmured into her ear,

"I need you happy here, Bellatrix. If you're to fulfil the prophecies, then you must stay here and be mine. And if you're to do that, I want you happy. Does the little baby cat make you happy?"

Bellatrix pulled back from him and nodded. She glanced over her shoulder to where Maelstrom was rolling onto his back. She pulled out her wand and Conjured a little black rubber ball, big enough that he wouldn't choke, and let it fall to the ground. Maelstrom came dashing over and batted at the ball, skittering away on the tile floor. Bellatrix grinned up at Voldemort and nodded again.

"Yes, Master," she said contentedly. "The little baby cat makes me very happy."

Hours later, Bellatrix had taken a bath after dinner and had Scoured her teeth and braided her hair, and she was settling into her rainbow quilt bed with Maelstrom curled up into a ball at her feet. Voldemort appeared in her doorway in his typical black flannel pyjamas, and Bellatrix sat up straighter.

"Oh. You've… you've got the cat in here," he noted. "I expect you want to sleep with the cat, then."

Bellatrix frowned in confusion. "I beg your pardon, My Lord?"

"I just thought…" He trailed off a little and licked his bottom lip as he asked carefully, "How are you feeling?"

Bleeding, he meant. Bellatrix's lips parted. As of this afternoon, she wasn't bleeding anymore. She took a shaking breath and informed him,

"I'm feeling… very much better, Master. Entirely improved."

"Mmm." Voldemort glanced from side to side, and his fists clenched and relaxed at his sides. He finally said tightly, "Come to my room, Bella. I should like for you to… I want you to stay the night. And I want to touch you first."

Bellatrix climbed quickly out of the rainbow quilted bed, and Maelstrom stayed behind. The kitten had clearly fallen asleep. Ronky the House-Elf had seen to it that the kitten had eaten quite a dinner, and so his little belly was full and he was restful after much play. Bellatrix followed Voldemort out into the dark corridor, expecting that they would walk down to the black and white room together.

But suddenly he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her against the wall, and she yelped a little. He bent down and crushed her mouth with a kiss, and Bellatrix quickly opened her mouth and let his tongue in. She was surprised by the force behind his kiss, and she moaned a little as she reached up to hold his face. His hands searched her through her nightgown, pawing at her breasts and her ribcage and her waist. He held fast to her and ripped his mouth away as he declared,

"I did not expect to  _like_  you like this, Bellatrix."

She didn't know what to say to that. He liked her? He  _liked_  her? She stared up into his eyes in the darkness and whispered,

"I'm sorry."

He panted a little and licked his bottom lip as he told her,

"I want to make you happy. I want… I want you to be happy here."

Bellatrix nodded. "I am. So far. I mean to say… you've got us a House-Elf, and you've got me paints and a kitten, and you're kissing me, and I get to take meals with you. What more could I want?"

"But the very issue is that I actually care whether or not you are happy," Voldemort mused, "and I never expected to care about that. And now I care about whether or not I'm about to make you come in my bedroom, because if I don't, it'll be a failure. And I never expected these things to matter, Bellatrix. These things never mattered, you understand? Hmm?"

She stared right at him, at his angry shining dark eyes, and she stroked at his jaw as she reminded him,

"You are my entire world, Master."

"Yes. I know." He nodded crisply. "I know. You're a good girl, Bellatrix. A very good girl."

He laced his fingers through hers and turned, starting to walk toward his black and white bedroom. He glanced over his shoulder and said to Bellatrix,

"Come give me pleasure now, Bella."

 **Author's Note: Awww, she got a kitty cat. And** _ **he**_   **gave it to her. And she's painting! And there's an obvious lemon in the next chapter! And Voldemort is starting to get wayyyyyyy emotional around her. How long before he snaps and starts actually full-on falling for Bellatrix?**

**I would be super grateful if you could spare a quick moment to let me know what you think. Thanks so much.**


	13. Cats and Kittens

He had her on her stomach, and the view was absolutely amazing.

Voldemort knelt beside Bellatrix's body as she lay on his bed, and he trailed his fingers very slowly down her spine. They'd taken their pyjamas off slowly, kissing all the while as they stumbled toward the bed. He'd pushed her gently up and urged her onto her belly, and he'd cast a contraceptive charm upon her. Now he dragged a fingernail along her vertebrae, and Bellatrix moaned softly onto the pillow. Voldemort shut his eyes, licking his lips as he went harder than he'd been at the beginning of all this. There was a thick knot in his throat that he couldn't quite swallow past, no matter how hard he tried.

He cupped her backside in one hand and squeezed a little, and Bellatrix arched her back, tipping her arse up into his palm. He tipped his head, feeling profound want for her as the round softness of her bottom registered to his touch. He rubbed at her and squeezed again, harder this time. Small. She was so very  _small_ ; her entire arse cheek fit into his grip. Voldemort's hand drifted from Bellatrix's backside down to her thigh, and he rubbed and stroked at her skin there. Then he moved his other hand to her shoulder, and he stroked down Bellatrix's arm. She groaned onto the pillow again, a little huff of vocalisation as his hands searched her beautiful body.

Suddenly he felt the need for more, for closeness. Nearness. Just like the prophecies ordered. She was to be near him - right now.

He lay down on the bed beside Bellatrix and pushed her onto her side. She stared at him and looked hungry, her eyes glazed and her lips parted. Voldemort leaned forward and kissed her, letting his cock poke her belly as he edged his tongue between her lips. Bellatrix hummed her delight, squealing quietly when his tongue pulled along the roof of her mouth. Voldemort reached between them and folded his cock up, edging closer until he was flush against her. He reached down between Bellatrix's legs and touched at her clit with two of his fingers. He pulled his mouth off of hers and stared at her, holding her gaze as his fingers pulsed on her nub.

"Master." Bellatrix's eyes fluttered shut and her head fell backward a little, but Voldemort commanded her,

"Open your eyes and look at me, Bellatrix."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix forced her eyes open, looking woozy as Voldemort pressed his fingers more resolutely against her. She was getting properly wet now, and he adored the feel of her becoming soaked beneath his touch. She reached with a shaking hand for his face, and he let her hold him there, let her fingers convulse against his cheek as he touched her. He slid his forefinger and middle finger inside of her, twisting them a little, and then he pulled them back out and ran them along the slick folds of Bellatrix's womanhood. She squirmed a bit, which made her stomach grind against Voldemort's cock in a most delightful way. He hissed and whispered,

"Again."

She swiveled her hips onto his hand, and the motion made her belly move against the tip of his cock. Voldemort wrenched his eyes shut for a moment and wondered if it was too much, if he would be able to handle it or not. He gulped, trying to work past the knot in his throat, and he whispered,

"Pretty girl… you are very nearly in excess of what I can take just now."

"Master… Master, Master." Bellatrix purred the word over and over, and it sounded so perfect coming from her that Voldemort glared. He was going to lose himself; she was going to make him spill himself all over her stomach. He shook a little bit as he informed her,

"You keep talking like that and you're liable to receive a spanking, Miss Black."

Her breath came hard and fast through clenched teeth at that. She trembled with excitement and tightened around his fingers at the prospect. Suddenly he realised that she  _wanted_  to be spanked, and he furrowed his brows a little. He gulped, finally clearing his throat, and he murmured,

"Get on your stomach, Bella."

"Yes, My Lord." She instantly rolled back onto her belly, and Voldemort pulled his hand from her. He was sticky and messy from her, but he couldn't care now. He knelt beside her again, his cock standing at attention, and he stared at the lovely round arse that he had squeezed earlier. Now he knew why she'd liked the attention here so very much. He sighed, feeling his heart race, and he cast a wandless, nonverbal Scouring charm on his hand so that it would be dry and clean when he struck her. Bellatrix folded her arms and lay her head down obediently. Voldemort raised his right hand and brought it down.

_Smack!_

The bottom of her left cheek instantly glowed pink, and Voldemort felt a heady rush of excitement from the sight. He smacked her on the bottom of her right cheek, seeing the same pink flush there. He walloped her on the round, fleshy parts of her arse, then on the more sensitive top bits. He cycled back through from the bottoms again, and again and again until she was red and moaning. She gripped the pillows and seethed desperately as he struck her over and over again, and finally she screamed at a spank and cried out,

"Master! Please!"

"Please what? Please  _what?_ " He couldn't stop now. He kept spanking her, thwacking her roughly a few more times until she sobbed into a pillow and burrowed her fists against it. Her flesh was searing hot and scarlet red, and the next time Voldemort spanked her, he hissed at her, "Beg me to stop, Bellatrix."

"P-Please." She turned her head and sniveled, "I've had enough. Please."

He stopped then, flipping her over like a rag doll until she lay on her back. She yelped as her backside touched the sheets, and on instinct, Voldemort touched his hand to her heated flesh and murmured a painkilling charm. She shut her eyes, sighed, and muttered,

"Oh, I came so hard."

"What?" Voldemort scoffed a little laugh and shook his head. "What do you mean,  _you came so hard?_  You didn't…"

"Mmm… halfway through; it drove me absolutely mad," she hummed, her eyes still shut and a peaceful look upon her face. Her nipples were soft, he saw. She'd come down from a high. He stared at her in awe and then kissed her lips carefully, speaking right against her mouth as he declared,

"Glad to be of service by beating you into oblivion, Bella."

She laughed a little and asked onto his lips, "Will you do me the profound honour of entering me now? Master?"

"Hmmm… yes." Voldemort moved to climb atop Bellatrix, and she pulled her knees up to her chest as he arranged himself. He pushed into her, and she grappled at his chest, then found purchase on his arms. She held fast to his biceps as he rocked into her body, and that felt magnificent. Her little round breasts swayed up and down as he pumped into her, and her hair started to come loose of its braid. She squeezed at his arms, and her walls squeezed round his cock. She was so tight, so wet and warm and snug, and Voldemort felt at home inside of her. He shut his eyes and whispered rather desperately,

"Bellatrix, this is…"

He didn't finish. He wasn't sure what he'd meant to say.  _This is perfect,_  probably, but it would have sounded too maudlin and clingy and childish. So he just pumped and pumped until his knees started to ache, reminding him that he had forty-five years beneath him. Why was he doing all the work tonight, he wondered? All Bellatrix was doing was lying there and receiving. Receiving spanks and receiving his cock. Time for her to work a little, he reckoned. He pulled out of her and rolled onto his back, and he commanded her,

"Climb onto me."

She wordlessly obeyed him, dragging herself up onto her knees and tossing a leg over his hips. She stared down at him as she slowly sank onto his cock, and that felt so good that Voldemort had to shut his eyes and try his damndest not to come right then and there. Instead he laced his fingers through Bellatrix's right hand, and with his own right hand, he held her hip. She started to move, to sway forward and up, backward and down. Forward and up, backward and down. She established a rhythm quickly, moving easily in her youth. Voldemort watched her lithe body move atop him and marveled at her beauty, at the way her thick braid fell just so over one shoulder, the ends dusting the swell of her breast. He studied the way her tiny waist curved into her narrow hip, the way her thin thighs straddled him. She was almost perfect, he thought. He tried to think of something to change about her appearance, something he disliked on her, but he couldn't. She was… she was marvelous.

She was  _his_.

"Bella." Voldemort choked out her name and remembered the day Abraxas Malfoy had brought him the first prophecy. Voldemort had been more than a little perplexed by it, by the idea that Bellatrix Black was crucial to his success. But right this moment, with his cock sheathed within her, it seemed perfectly natural that the two of them must be together, that she must belong to him. That seemed almost inevitable.

Voldemort began to feel his balls drawing up against his body, and he felt gooseflesh break out all over. Everything felt tight and hot, and he squeezed his hand on Bellatrix's hip. Her fingers tightened on his, as though she knew he was about to snap, and suddenly he heard her murmur gently,

"Fill me, Master."

"Oh." She'd broken him. He cracked like an egg then, losing control entirely as the heat in his heat rushed through his veins. His come leaped up into her body, and she tossed her head back as she stilled her hips and soaked in the way he was spilling himself inside of her. She seemed to revel in it, and that fact enhanced Voldemort's own pleasure greatly. He panted heavily as he watched Bellatrix's mouth fall open, as her fingers went between them and played with the come that leaked back out onto the shaft of Voldemort's cock. He let out a helpless, mewling sort of noise and shut his eyes, for it was all too much.

He started to go soft, and Bellatrix finally climbed off of him. She gasped for breath as she lay naked on her back beside him, and Voldemort kept his eyes shut for a long moment. Finally he reached for his wand off the table beside him, entirely too tired for wandless magic, and he Siphoned and Scoured until they were both clean. He set his wand down and mumbled,

"Well.  _That_  was… erm… that was…"

"That was very good," Bellatrix said for him, and Voldemort choked out a little laugh. He opened his eyes and turned his head toward her. He tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear and whispered, just a little too softly,

"That was very good."

The two of them just let that sentence hang there for a while, without saying anything else, until Voldemort started to feel cold. He slithered beneath the blankets, and Bellatrix did the same. They faced one another, still naked, and she finally fretted,

"I hope Maelstrom is all right in the rainbow room all by himself. He's so little."

"I'm sure he's fine," said Voldemort, smirking a bit. "He's a cat. They're quite self-sufficient."

"He's a very small cat," Bellatrix worried, and Voldemort rolled his eyes a little. He shook his head and muttered,

"You ruin me, you realise."

He slid out of bed and walked over to the pile of clothes they'd peeled off of one another. Bellatrix seemed confused as he pulled on underwear and pyjama trousers. He gave her a heavy look and then walked out of the bedroom, stalking down the corridor until he reached the room with the awful rainbow quilt. Inside he found the little black kitten curled up in a ball, asleep. Why he was disturbing this kitten, Voldemort had absolutely no idea. He shook his head and huffed a breath, reaching to pick the thing up. It mewed in protest as he cradled it in his arm and carried it back down the corridor to the black and white room. Inside his own bedroom, he climbed up onto the bed, where Bellatrix was grinning like a madwoman, and he set the kitten down near her feet. She reached down to pet Maelstrom, cooing at him gently, and then she took Voldemort's face in her hands and kissed him hard.

"You," she said between kisses, "are a most merciful master and the best -"

"Stop," he laughed. "All I did was fetch your damned cat."

"Kitten," she corrected him, giggling, but he pulled her down until she was on top of him, and he shook his head.

"It sounds like a more manly deed if it was a cat I fetched, not a kitten."

"Quite so. Dark Lords do not fetch kittens for their prophesied servants," Bellatrix smiled. Voldemort stared up at her, feeling his face go serious.

"Is that what you are?" he asked both of them. "A prophesied servant?"

"What else would I be, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, hovering over his chest as her braid fell and tickled his shoulder. He shook his head, reaching up to cradle her jaw. He pulled her down and kissed her, quite deeply. He breathed her in, the winter that he tasted and smelled on her, and he suddenly felt more comfortable than he'd felt at any moment in his entire existence. He wanted this -  _this_  - to last forever, he thought. He never, ever wanted to climb out of this bed. At the very least, he thought, he wanted to recreate this with her every night. There must always be kissing and talking like this, he told himself, for he quite liked it.

But then, out of nowhere, he felt an awful, searing pain on his left forearm, and he wrenched his mouth off of Bellatrix's. He pushed her back a little, and she gasped as she saw that his Dark Mark had flushed black. He stared at it and shut his eyes.

"Who is it, Master?" Bellatrix asked, the playfulness of her voice utterly gone as she climbed off of him. Voldemort reached out into the ether to feel for who had called him at this hour, and he answered her as soon as he felt the pulse in the darkness.

"It's Abraxas Malfoy," he said, opening his eyes, "and it's urgent. I need to go to Malfoy Manor at once."

**Author's Note: Whew! Sorry about that cliffhanger, but this lemon kind of ran away from me, and the next chapter is its own big thing. So, what do you think Abraxas is doing calling Voldemort late at night? Any ideas? I'd love to hear your theories. :} Thanks so very much for reading, and a massive thank you for reviewing!**


	14. Irma Black

Bellatrix paced in the parlour of The Reverie. She'd dressed for battle, just in case. She'd put on leggings and a black tunic with a wide belt round her waist, and she'd braided her curls into twin plaits at the sides of her head. She had flat black leather boots on her feet and her wand in her hand, and she walked back and forth, back and forth. Maelstrom followed her, leaping after her heels and occasionally batting at Bellatrix's boots. She ignored the kitten for now, her stomach churning with anticipation as she wondered just what had caused Abraxas Malfoy to summon his master to Malfoy Manor.

Bellatrix twirled her wand anxiously in her hand and stepped back and forth before the fire she'd lit in the fireplace. It was too warm for a fire, probably, but she'd been nervous and needed to hear the crackle of the flame on the wood as she paced. She shut her eyes and whispered rather desperately to herself,

"Oh, Master, please let everything be all right."

She wondered whether something had happened to Lucius. He was meant to go back to school in the morning, to begin plotting the death of Albus Dumbledore. She wondered whether Aurors had come to Malfoy Manor looking for her. She wondered whether Abraxas had been sacked from the Department of Mysteries, whether there had been another prophecy. She wondered all of this and more as her mind and heart and breath raced.

Suddenly she heard the door at the rear of the house slide open, the one in the sunroom that led out to the path to the Apparition point. Bellatrix rushed out of the parlour, dashing through the dining room and toward Lord Voldemort, who illuminated the wall sconces in the sunroom as he shut the door behind him. He had dressed in sombre black robes for his trip to Malfoy Manor, and he loomed over Bellatrix, his face serious now.

"Please tell me what's happened," she begged him. She didn't dare begin to guess. She just studied his glittering black eyes as he suggested,

"Why don't we sit down?"

Bellatrix frowned a little. Sit down? Weren't they off to a battle somewhere? A fight? Wasn't there something to be  _done_? Bellatrix followed Voldemort to the cream-coloured brocade divan in the sunroom and sat down beside him, furrowing her brow at him as she asked,

"Has something terrible happened?" Now she did begin guessing. "Is Lucius all right? Did they go to Malfoy Manor looking for me? Has there been a fight?"

"All's quiet," Voldemort said rather softly. "More quiet than we'd care for. You see, Bella, during wartime, we are always very cautious, very careful about large gatherings. Rodolphus' engagement party… we had to be careful about that. Why?"

"Because there could always be an ambush, Master," Bellatrix said, feeling confused. "Has there been an ambush on a gathering?"

"No." Voldemort licked his bottom lip. "What sorts of events might we hold where we must be very cautious about ambushes?"

Bellatrix scowled more deeply than ever and shrugged. "Christmas parties. Weddings. Funerals."

"Ah. Yes. Funerals." Voldemort stared straight at her now and nodded. "There will be a rather large funeral soon, Bellatrix, because the Pureblood community has lost one of its bedrock members. One of its… I know you and she had a very close relationship, and I am actually quite sorry for you in losing her."

"I beg your pardon?" Bellatrix's heart thumped. Who had died? She gulped hard and gripped the edge of the divan. Voldemort seemed to know he was being clumsy, and he finally clarified,

"Your grandmother, Irma Black, suffered an attack of the heart this afternoon. She died minutes later. Your grandfather Pollux rushed her to St Mungo's, but it was too late."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open. She and her grandmother Irma had been neatly knitted together. Irma had been cold and distant with Andromeda and Narcissa, and had flat-out disliked Bellatrix's cousins Regulus and Sirius. But she'd always had a sizeable soft spot for Bellatrix, teaching her how to use magic to knit blankets and drinking tea with her as the two of them discussed the family histories. Irma and Pollux lived in a beautiful country home with enviable rose gardens, and Bellatrix would stroll through them in the summers with her grandmother as Irma showed Bellatrix spells to keep the blooms looking perfect.

Bellatrix felt her eyes prickle just a little bit as she realised her Gran Irma was was dead. Not that she'd have been able to visit whilst locked up here in Cornwall, anyway, but still… the notion that Irma was gone forever was… well, it was shocking. It hurt. It caused a physical pain in Bellatrix's abdomen. Voldemort said quietly,

"Your family is grieving, of course, and there will be a funeral. A large one, for she was the matriarch of the Black and Crabbe families. But because Pollux took her to St Mungo's, word of Irma's death immediately reached the Ministry, and obviously they know that she's your grandmother. Abraxas summoned me because he was at work when a conversation broke out about using Irma Black's funeral as the perfect opportunity to trap and capture Bellatrix Black, the prophesied key to defeating Lord Voldemort."

"I understand," Bellatrix nodded. "I mustn't attend. It's too dangerous; they could -"

"No. You  _must_  attend," Voldemort corrected her. Bellatrix stared at him with wide, shocked eyes. She blinked a few times and shook her head.

"I don't understand."

"I'm afraid your grandmother's funeral is going to become a battleground, Bellatrix." Voldemort chewed his lip hard. He told her, "They'll send a scout in disguise. Perhaps even use a spy, a Pureblood we don't suspect. So you have to actually be there. Then Aurors will show up to the funeral with the intention of capturing you. And what I need you to do, against every impulse I know you possess, is to flee. I know you can fight better than any of my other soldiers, but what I will need of you on that day is for you to Apparate here the very instant that Aurors arrive. Leave it to the other Death Eaters in attendance and I to kill off the Aurors."

Bellatrix frowned. "But I could -"

"No, Bellatrix." Voldemort clutched at her jaw so hard that it hurt, and she whimpered. He shook his head and informed her, "Your duty, above any other service to me, is to come back here safe and sound and  _secret_. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix nodded in his hand, and he released her. He rose slowly then, and she did the same. He nodded and said,

"I've all manner of preparation to carry out for this. I've got to get back to Malfoy Manor and start meeting with my Death Eaters to make battle plans. I am sorry for the loss of your grandmother, Bella."

She felt breathless where she stood, but she just nodded and whispered, "Thank you, Master."

* * *

"I'm so nervous I could vomit," Bellatrix said aloud as she stood in the rainbow quilt room and stared into the full-length mirror.

"Well, don't do that."

Bellatrix looked over her shoulder at her reflection and saw Voldemort in the doorway of the room. She let out a shaking breath and asked him,

"Do these look like good fleeing clothes, Master?"

He stepped into the bedroom and approached her, his heavy black waffle-weave robes swishing around him as he moved. He studied her appearance in her tea-length black silk dress with its buttons all down the front and its silk cape down the back. She wore black silk gloves and had pulled her curls into a tight chignon, atop which sat a small pointed black hat with a small black veil that came down over Bellatrix's forehead. She looked mature and elegant, she thought. Her parents would be proud to see her like this, for the little bit of time they'd see her. Gran Irma would have certainly liked the outfit. Bellatrix was really wearing it for her.

"You look…" Voldemort sighed, and Bellatrix knitted her brows, wondering if something was wrong. She turned toward him and stared up, and she read conflict in his eyes. His throat bobbed, and he wet his bottom lip with a flick of his tongue. He declared carefully, "You look almost painfully beautiful, Bellatrix."

"Oh." Bellatrix felt her stomach tighten at that. She reached for his hand, threading her gloved fingers through his, and she squeezed a little. She smiled just a bit and declared, "Today I serve you properly. I promise, Master. The moment I see Aurors, I Disapparate and come back here."

"And if you are captured, I will rescue you," Voldemort said, regret tinging his voice, as though he didn't want to admit that as a possibility. He looked away and said rather firmly, "Don't get captured."

Bellatrix nodded stoutly. "I'll escape smoothly, My Lord. All will be well. Now… it's nearly eleven. We ought to go, no?"

They made their way downstairs, and Bellatrix barked at Ronky to see to it that Maelstrom got plenty of food and water whilst they were gone. They went out onto the lawn, and Voldemort asked,

"Had you meant to continue work on your painting of the sea today?"

"Just putting the finishing touches on the palm, My Lord, and there's always tomorrow," she said resolutely. He held onto her hand and reminded her,

"You're not to leave my side. You're to stay with me at every moment."

She nodded and walked with him down onto the rocks, past the Apparition Point. Voldemort Disapparated, taking Bellatrix with him, and when they came to, they were at Pollux and Irma Black's beautiful country manor. People were Apparating onto the front lawn of the place, and when it was clear that Voldemort had appeared, gasps rang out around them and people began bowing their heads respectfully. Bellatrix expected Voldemort to release her hand, but he didn't. Instead, he walked them toward the front door of the house, and he looked around as though studying the faces of those in attendance. Then Bellatrix realised what he was doing. Legilimency. He was searching for a spy.

"My Lord!" cried Druella Black as they entered the home. "Bellatrix! Oh, Bella, dear."

They'd come upon the receiving line of family members who had gathered in a line to accept the condolences of those attending the funeral. Druella stood beside her bereaved husband Cygnus, who was the son of the deceased Irma. Cygnus stood beside his sister Walburga, whose cousin-husband Orion was alongside her. Alphard, the third sibling, was at the end of the row and did not seem at all pleased to see Lord Voldemort. Irma Crabbe's beloved niece and Bellatrix's cousin, Araminta Meliflua - noted for attempting to get a law passed legalising Muggle-hunting - stood just beside Druella. She was much older than Bellatrix, but the two had always gotten along swimmingly, and now Araminta gave Bellatrix a sad little smile. Araminta would be most aggrieved by the loss of Irma, Bellatrix thought. They'd been like peas and carrots, the two of them.

"Hello," Bellatrix said, both to Araminta and to her mother. She looked at her father and said, "Daddy, I'm so sorry about Gran Irma."

She wondered how much her father knew about the Aurors who were slated to come. She wondered how much anyone here knew about that. Voldemort squeezed her hand a little, and Druella said,

"How good it is to see you, Bellatrix. Thank you, My Lord, for allowing her to come."

"How could I possibly keep her from her grandmother's funeral?" asked Voldemort, though Bellatrix knew that if they hadn't been laying a trap, she'd have been sitting at The Reverie whilst everyone else mourned Irma Black without her. She knew what the prophecies said. She knew what her duty was.

Perhaps, in her mind, she'd been expecting to make it through the solemn ceremony at her grandmother's grave out back and then the eulogies in the ballroom before the Aurors arrived. Perhaps she'd even expected to be sipping red wine and forcing conversation with distant relatives when the Ministry came calling.

So it was with a great measure of surprise that Bellatrix heard screams from behind her as the front door of Black Hall was thrown open. She whirled around, everything suddenly seeming to happen in slow motion. She whipped her wand out of its holster at her hip and caught glimpses of unfamiliar faces rushing into the house's foyer.

"Go, Bella!" screamed Voldemort, and Bellatrix did as he commanded. She Disapparated at once, aiming for The Reverie. But just as she left her grandparents' house, someone snatched at her and took hold of her arm. Bellatrix tried to shake the wizard off, but it was too late. She was already Disapparating, disappearing into the pinching black void, bringing an Auror with her to The Reverie.

**Author's Note: Ohhhhhh, nooooooooooooo… Voldemort's currently embroiled in a full-scale battle at Black Hall with his Death Eaters (we'll see this battle) and Bellatrix is about to land on the rocks outside the Reverie with an Auror in tow.**

**What could possibly go wrong?**

**Thanks so much for reading. I'm more grateful than I can say for comments and feedback.**


	15. Fighting

" _Tetraplegus!"_

Voldemort sliced his wand through the air as he whirled on the lawn outside Black Hall, and the spell socked into the Auror Barnabas Henry like a stone hitting water. All four of the skinny Auror's limbs went limp at once, and he collapsed onto the black earth. Voldemort spun back round toward the house, determined to maintain as many of these enemies as he could for interrogation. But when he saw Kenzie McNally's wand aimed at him, her thoughts hit him like a freight train.

Killing Curse. She was about to try and take him out. Well, he'd get there first. He swung his arm up, extending it out straight and bellowing in his mighty baritone,

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

Kenzie McNally was swallowed up by the jade green light of Voldemort's spell, and she went flying into the rosebushes, dead.

"Back into the house!" Voldemort yelled at Araminta Meliflua, who had appeared in the doorway with her wand out. She wanted to fight, to help, Voldemort could tell, but Araminta was a legislator in his movement, not a soldier. She was going to get herself killed. Araminta stepped outside onto the lawn, and Voldemort barked at her, "Will you disobey me, Araminta? I'll kill you for it! Get in the house and tell the others to scatter. I want this house completely empty!  _Now!_ "

"Yes, Master." Araminta, whose work pushing for harsher policies against Muggles had thus far gone nowhere but had been appreciated, dashed back into the manor and slammed the door shut. It closed just in time; a blast of white light ricocheted off the polished wood and sent splinters flying. Voldemort followed the trail of light to the wand that had cast the spell, and he saw an Auror whose name he couldn't place involved in a duel with Corban Yaxley. The Auror had obviously seen Araminta had thrown a spare hex. He and Yaxley were blocking one another's spells, one after the other.

Up the hill, Frances Crabbe was taking on a tall, plump witch in what looked like a vicious battle of wills. Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange went running in opposite directions, each of them off to help subdue the Aurors the others were fighting. Mulciber and Avery were in a three-way fight with a strong-looking wizard. There was light everywhere. Blue. White. Gold. Red. Hexes and jinxes and curses were soaring through the air as Death Eaters and Aurors wore themselves out fighting.

Suddenly Voldemort realised something. There was no information they would get from these Aurors that they couldn't get from Abraxas Malfoy, who was working undercover in the Department of Mysteries, or Yaxley in his work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. And none of these Death Eaters were masked, owing to the nature of today's ambush. Voldemort put his wand to his throat and Amplified his voice, and he bellowed in a full voice that all of his Death Eaters would hear,

"Kill them. Kill them all."

He turned to Barnabas Henry, the Auror he'd paralysed with a Tetraplegus Hex earlier. The man was still lying prostrate on the ground, now slowly clawing his way forward as he began to regain a little movement in his arms. Voldemort aimed his wand at Barnabas and muttered almost haphazardly,

" _Avada Kedavra._ "

There was a flash of green light and a clashing sound as the spell hit the Auror, and then his clenched hands flattened against the ground. Voldemort kept his wand aimed at the corpse and murmured,

" _Corpus Evanesco._ "

He looked up to see green flashes all over. One by one, his Death Eaters were wiping out the Aurors, who couldn't block the Killing Curses. Soon enough, there were five dead Aurors. Why hadn't they sent more, Voldemort wondered? Only five had come on the mission to confront Lord Voldemort and obtain Bellatrix Black? Why hadn't they sent Dumbledore? Yes, today was the first day after Easter holiday, but why hadn't they sent Dumbledore to fight Voldemort directly and a dozen or more Aurors to fight the Death Eaters? This was almost lazy, and certainly foolish, on the Ministry's part.

There had been another face, he thought. Morton Brownstone, a dough-faced wizard from Kent who had been a Ravenclaw in Tom Riddle's year. Voldemort had caught a glimpse of Morton Brownstone just before…

Just before he'd screamed at Bellatrix to go. And now, as he walked around surveying the way his Death Eaters were Vanishing bodies, he knew that Morton was no longer here. Where had he gone? Had he somehow followed Bellatrix to The Reverie?

"Listen to me." Voldemort's voice was still Amplified, and he boomed out so loudly that all his Death Eaters and anyone left inside the house would hear him. "We have successfully eliminated the Aurors who have attacked us without provocation. It is a damnable shame that this attack occurred at what was meant to be the solemn marking of Irma Black's passing. But that will have to wait for another day. Now we scatter, all of us. Go to your homes. Wait. Do not gather in large numbers. Contact comes in cases of emergency only. Stay home whenever you can. Ours is the victory today, but we do not celebrate. We go underground. Await my signal to reemerge. Now go. Leave this place empty. Give them nothing to find."

With that, he nodded to Crabbe, Mulciber, and Avery, who were standing before him, and turned to clasp the shoulder of Rodolphus Lestrange. He stepped backward a few steps then and Disapparated, aiming for The Reverie.

When he came to, he felt a wave brush up against the backs of his boots and kiss the hem of his robe. He hurried up the rocks, for he saw a large cloaked figure lying upon them. A body? A corpse, there on the rocks? Voldemort ran as quickly as he could up the beach and across the stones. He rushed up to the black figure lying on the boulders, and he gasped.

Morton Brownstone. Dead. Bellatrix had to have killed him, Voldemort thought. He was lying on his back, staring straight up into the sun with unseeing eyes. His wand was sticking out of the rocks beside him at an awkward angle, as though he'd dropped it mid-fall. Then Voldemort saw it, all of the rocks and up on the grass, scarlet and gleaming, shining and wet and not from Morton. Blood. Bellatrix's blood. Voldemort stared at the body and then looked up at the white house, and suddenly he was running as fast as he possibly could.

"Bellatrix!"

He called her name in a desperate roar, using wandless magic to throw open the sunroom door and hurtling into the house. Ronky appeared out of thin air before him, and Voldemort heaved the creature up by its little shoulders and demanded in a snarl,

"Where is she? Where is Bellatrix?"

"M-Miss Bellatrix is upstairs healing, Master," Ronky stammered. "Ronky did his best."

"What do you mean, you  _did your best?_ " Voldemort threw the House-Elf onto the ground, and Ronky clamored backward until he hit the glass door. He used his own magic to shut the door and then said,

"Ronky saw Miss Bellatrix outside, dueling with a terrible wizard, sir. He was throwing hexes on her, sir. Ronky threw him back upon the rocks, sir, to make him stop. But then the awful wizard sliced open Miss Bellatrix, sir. He cut her clean apart, from her shoulder to her hip, sir, and her organs started falling out, sir. Ronky ran outside and started using House-Elf magic to try and save Miss Bellatrix, sir. Just before she fell unconscious, sir, she cast a Killing Curse on the terrible enemy wizard. She killed him, and then she collapsed. Ronky sealed up her wound as best as he could, sir, and then he brought her into the house."

"Where is she?" Voldemort began stalking toward the stairs, his heart pounding. "Is she going to live?"

"Miss Bellatrix has lost much blood, sir," said Ronky, trailing behind Voldemort, "but Ronky gave her many potions, sir, and used House-Elf magic."

"Potions. What potions?" Voldemort's feet pattered quickly on the stairs as he climbed. Ronky wheezed from behind him,

"Ronky put her organs back in place, sir, and used Essence of Dittany on her wound. Ronky gave her Anodyne Draught for the pain and to sedate her, sir. Ronky gave her Sanguinalis Serum to create new blood, sir. She is sleeping deeply now, sir, in the colorful room where her clothes are kept."

The damned rainbow quilt room. Voldemort rushed down the corridor and then paused for a split second. He whirled onto the House-Elf, who shrank back in fear. Voldemort gulped and nodded.

"Good work, Ronky," he said quickly, and the House-Elf looked immensely pleased. Voldemort hurried into the rainbow quilt room, and there he found Bellatrix lying on her back, her hat neatly placed on the table beside the bed. Her hair was still pulled into a tight chignon, but she had evidently been stripped down to her bra and knickers. Ronky had put the room's extra quilt over Bellatrix instead of tucking her into the bed. Smart elf, Voldemort thought. He stepped slowly into the room and gently peeled back the quilt.

He sucked in breath when he saw that her torso had been ripped wide open, Severed with magic. There was a thick, angry red line squiggling its way from her collarbone in a diagonal all the way down across her breast, over her flat belly, and onto her hip bone. Voldemort shut his eyes and tried to imagine her with her organs spilling out of her, the House-Elf rushing to the rescue as Bellatrix quickly killed the Auror who had apparently tagged along for a ride to this place.

He stared out the window at the blood on the rocks and grass. That was her blood. She'd bled all over whilst she was killing her enemy. His enemy. Their enemy. Voldemort glared at the corpse of Morton Brownstone and aimed his wand at the window.

" _Corpus Evanesco,_ " he murmured, and the body Vanished into Non-Being.

Six. There had been six Aurors sent, not five.

Voldemort gulped hard and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Bellatrix's hand into his as he whispered,

"That was very good fighting by my very best soldier. You are so very brave."

She didn't answer him, of course. She had been knocked out by Ronky's Anodyne Draught. For a long while, Voldemort just sat there and tried to imagine what had happened. Had she screamed in pain as she cast the Killing Curse? Had she tried to hold her organs in before Ronky had come to her aid? Had she cried out for mercy when Ronky had brought her inside and stitched her up with his magic?

"Master?"

Voldemort flicked his eyes to see Ronky standing in the doorway of the bedroom. He sighed and shrugged.

"What?"

"May Ronky get Master some tea?" Ronky looked very concerned. Voldemort licked his dry lip, realising how thirsty he was, and his eyes prickled as he said,

"Lemonade. Not tea."

"Straight away, Master." Ronky turned to go, but Voldemort called,

"Ronky." The elf came back, and Voldemort asked, "When she was in the worst of her pain… was she… did she…"

He wasn't even really quite sure what he was asking, but Ronky's little face softened, and the House-Elf informed Voldemort,

"She kept screaming one word over and over again, sir.  _Master. Master. Master._ "

Voldemort's breath hitched, and he just nodded. "I'll take that lemonade now."

"Yes, sir." Ronky trotted off then, and Voldemort turned back to Bellatrix. He adjusted the quilt up round her neck, ensuring she was warm even in her stripped-down state, and he stroked at her hair and forehead. He studied her face, seeing beauty all over her features, and he said softly,

"Bella, if you'd died…"

He couldn't finish that thought, for some reason. It made his chest ache, thinking of her being dead. His eyes seared like mad in a most embarrassing fashion. He tried to remind himself that he'd murdered two people today, that she'd killed someone. They were killers, the two of them.

"Master, your lemonade?" Ronky came toddling into the bedroom and handed a glass of iced lemonade over to Voldemort. He took it and nodded. Ronky knitted his fingers together and fretted, "Anything else, sir?"

"No. You've done enough. You've… you've done well." Voldemort nodded as Ronky bowed and backed out of the room, and he thought to himself that Abraxas had selected quite a good House-Elf for him. Voldemort sipped his lemonade and stared out the window, wondering if he ought to go outside and Siphon Bellatrix's blood off the rocks and grass. Perhaps later. Right now he needed to be near her. He needed to be  _with_ her.

"My Lord?"

He whirled so quickly at the sound of her whisper that he nearly dropped his lemonade. He wandlessly Banished it to the table beside the bed and let his lips fall open, struggling for words as he met Bellatrix's eyes. She looked glazed and drugged, the Anodyne Draught still heavy in her veins as she blinked slowly.

"How is your pain?" For some reason, that was Voldemort's first concern. He pursed his lips. "Are you in pain, Bella?"

"No, Master. I'm fine." She sounded dreamy, and she looked vaguely confused as she asked him, "Is he dead? The wizard who… the one who…"

"His name was Morton Brownstone, and he was an Auror. Yes, he is dead. You managed to kill our enemy whilst you were bleeding out from a horrific injury. I am exceedingly proud of you."

Bellatrix shut her eyes and was silent for a long while. He thought she'd fallen back to sleep, but then she asked in a very soft voice,

"What about the others? At… my grandparents'... house?"

"We killed the other five. Vanished their bodies. Everyone has scattered," Voldemort said. "The Ministry will panic that they lost six Aurors and didn't get you. We won the battle. But we're going underground to stay safe for a little while. I'll be staying here with you for a time."

Her lips curled up a bit, and she said gently, "How pleased I am… that we've won. I… I am sorry… that I got so hurt."

"The important thing is that you are alive," said Voldemort seriously, "and that you are here. You fought valiantly. Sounds like the elf did well, too."

"He's a good little thing," Bellatrix whispered. "I'd have died for certain."

"Well, you are not dead," said Voldemort, "and we are going to get you all healed up. Soon enough, you'll be finishing that painting of the sea. You'll be painting me. You'll be walking down by the shore, and you'll sleep in my bed, and you'll…"

He stopped then, for she'd shut her eyes again, and her breathing had slowed substantially. She'd drifted off to sleep. Voldemort chewed his lip and muttered,

"Sleep well, Bella."

He reached for his lemonade and sipped it, staring out the window at the drying blood on the rocks and grass. He sipped his lemonade again and then set it on the table beside the bed, and he heard a little whisper behind him.

"I love you."

He turned slowly, convinced he'd heard Bellatrix incorrectly. He blinked and stared at her, studying her face as she slept. He frowned a little, surprised when Bellatrix reached out a hand from underneath the quilt and slowly took hold of his fingers. Her head fell to the side; she was clearly slumbering away, but she whispered it again.

"I love you, Master."

Voldemort's stomach clenched. His head spun. His eyes burned so badly that he had to blink very quickly just to see. He wasn't sure what to say to her. Nothing, he reckoned; she was sleeping. But something compelled him to bring her knuckles to his lips and kiss them, and something made him inform her gently,

"I am so very proud of you. And you are… you are everything, Bellatrix, and it is not… it's more than just the prophecies, you understand? There is more to you and I than prophecies ordering us about. There is… you and I, we comprise something. A pairing of sorts. We are something, you and I, aren't we? With or without prophecies' foretellings? Hmm? You do realise that I genuinely care for you? Don't you?"

She did not answer him. She was deeply asleep. Voldemort kissed her knuckles again, set her hand down, and stood slowly, telling her sleeping form,

"I'm going to go clean up your blood from outside. You fought well, Bella. Now rest."

**Author's Note: Battle! Angst! Hurt/Comfort! Fluff! Who needs a nap after** _ **that**_   **chapter? I know I need a nap after writing it. LOL. I would really love to know your thoughts. Please do take a moment to review. Thanks so much.**


	16. Oh

"Here, Miss Bellatrix. Just a little dropperful. Tastes like honey, Miss Bellatrix…"

She opened her mouth as Ronky drizzled some Anodyne Draught into her mouth. She felt a pleasant wash of sedation come over her, and the aching, sharp pain across her front faded at once. Bellatrix shut her eyes and could hear Ronky talking with Lord Voldemort.

"I can't bring a Healer here, nor can I take her to St Mungo's," said Voldemort rather sternly. "I need your House-Elf magic to treat her here, Ronky. How are her organs?"

"The organs are healing well, Master," Ronky replied, "but the incision would cause her much, much terrible, awful pain without the Anodyne Draught, sir. Ronky has sealed her torso as well as Ronky could, sir, but even with Essence of Dittany, it will take much time and much Anodyne Draught for her to heal until she has no pain."

"She needs to eat," Voldemort murmured. He shook Bellatrix's shoulder a little and asked her very gently, "Bellatrix, can you open your eyes and look at me?"

She tried, and when she blinked her eyes open, Voldemort was slowly sinking to sit on the edge of the bed, facing her. He smirked just a little and whispered,

"Strong girl." Then he turned to Ronky and commanded, "A good sturdy soup. Creamy potato with cheese, perhaps. Something to fill her up."

Right on cue, Bellatrix's stomach grumbled audibly, and she felt a little ache there. Ronky went dashing out of the room, banging into the threshold of the bedroom door in his haste. Voldemort took Bellatrix's hand and informed her,

"That was quite a lot of blood that I cleaned up from outside. Your body will have quite a lot to make anew. I'm sure you're exhausted, having lost all that blood."

"I'm all right, Master," Bellatrix said softly. Voldemort scoffed a little and reminded her,

"You were sliced open like a slaughtered pig."

Bellatrix winced at the memory. She felt the push of Voldemort's Legilimency then, knowing he was pressing to see her mind relive what had happened. She could see it all as though it had been five minutes earlier.

_She'd landed on the rocky beach with a wizard clutching at her arm. She'd wrenched herself away from him, aiming her wand and readying a Killing Curse. But he'd thrown a Jelly-Legs Jinx at her, and Bellatrix had collapsed onto the ground and dropped her wand. She'd scrambled for it, but the wizard had thrown a Lightning Hex at her, which had jolted her with fire from the inside out, Bellatrix had eventually grabbed her wand and flown to her feet, aiming her wand again just as a Silencing Spell had socked her in the mouth. The wizard had gone flinging back against the rocks and had moaned in agony. Bellatrix had tried to speak, but the spell silencing her hadn't worn off yet. Suddenly the wizard had slashed his wand at her, yelling, "Diffindo!"_

_Bellatrix had shrieked then, cutting through the Silencing Charm as her stomach and intestines spilled through the deep gash that had been sliced into her body. Her hands had started shaking so fiercely at once that she could hardly use them to push her intestines and liver back inside, and she'd screamed through the ferocious pain that had seared and ripped at her. Her ears had been ringing and hot with agonising pain as she'd seen Ronky come sprinting across the lawn toward her. The little House-Elf's eyes had read fear, and he'd swished his fingers until Bellatrix had felt her organs go back inside the cavity of her body. She'd gripped her wand with a bloodied hand and had watched in horror as more blood spilled itself all over the rocks and grass. She'd taken a step forward and slipped on the blood, jabbing her wand through the air toward the wizard who had followed her here, the man who was lying back on the rocks where Ronky's magic had flung him._

" _Av-Avada Kedavra!" Bellatrix had shrieked, her voice hoarse with the effort of yelling through her bleeding and pain. She collapsed onto her knees as her torn dress rippled around her in the breeze. The blinding flash of green light blasted forth from her wand and shot straight into the wizard who had followed her here. The wizard rocketed backward against the boulders and slammed his head onto a corner of a rock, but he was already dead as Bellatrix's Killing Curse wormed through him._

_She fell forward onto her hands, dropping her wand again, and she collapsed onto her side. She was still bleeding, and the scarlet stain on the grass was spreading quickly. Bellatrix began to feel cold, to feel dizzy, and she was shaking so hard that she thought perhaps she was having a seizure._

" _Hold on, Miss Bellatrix!" yelped Ronky, coming to run before her, standing in the pool of blood on the ground. He waved his arms a few times, and Bellatrix gasped as she felt her torso start to stitch itself up. She felt herself sealing up from her shoulder to her hip. She shut her eyes and tipped her head onto the lawn, sighing through the pain and seething a little, She said through clenched teeth,_

" _I am going to die."_

" _No, no, Miss Bellatrix! Ronky will not allow that. No, he won't! No, no. Ronky will take you inside and heal you, Miss Bellatrix."_

_Bellatrix tried to open her eyes, tried to answer, but everything was suddenly black and empty._

She blinked a few times, slowly, and stared at Lord Voldemort. He seemed to be marveling, having witnessed the entire event through Bellatrix's eyes. He just stared at her for a long moment, and he finally whispered,

"What a very good soldier you are, killing him with that injury."

"I had no choice, Master. He was trying to kill me. I could tell," Bellatrix said quietly. "He didn't have it in him to cast a Killing Curse, so he was trying to Sever me to death. I could tell; that man wanted me dead."

"Yes." Voldemort nodded and let out a shaking sigh. "And now we know that the Ministry's tactic of separating you from me, of breaking the Prophecy and defeating me, is to kill you. I will not let that happen, Bella."

"I'm so sorry that I got so gravely wounded, Master," Bellatrix hummed, but before Voldemort could answer her, Ronky came toddling back into the bedroom with a tray full of food. Voldemort turned and took the tray from Ronky, carefully placing it on the bed before him. Bellatrix smelled cheese and potato soup wafting at her from the bowl, and her stomach growled again. She shut her eyes and whispered,

"I'm hungry."

"Yes, I'll bet you are; it's been over a day since you've eaten anything," said Voldemort tightly. "Ronky, carefully prop her up so I can feed her."

"Feed me?" Bellatrix was shocked by that, and even more surprised when Ronky came over and began delicately arranging pillows behind Bellatrix's back. It ought to have hurt her torso to sit up, she reckoned, but the Anodyne Draught dulled the pain so that there were just little shooting stabs of it that she could mostly ignore. Bellatrix sat herset up as best she could, and Voldemort looked pleased. He muttered to Ronky,

"Go to Malfoy Manor. Speak with Abraxas Malfoy and get me a report on the status of the people who were at Irma Black's funeral. Also, a report on what's happening at the Ministry in the wake of all this. It's too dangerous to communicate by owl right now, and I can't go there. I need you to get as much information as you can for me, Ronky."

"Yes, Master." Ronky bowed low. "Ronky will get a very good deal of information from Mister Abraxas Malfoy about the people at the funeral and the happenings at the Ministry. Ronky will go straight away, sir."

With that, Ronky snapped his fingers and Disapparated, and Voldemort admitted to Bellatrix,

"You know, I am rather fond of that little creature. He does his job quite admirably, wouldn't you say?"

"He's a good little elf, Master." Bellatrix felt very sleepy all of a sudden, and she shut her eyes and tipped her head back against the pillow. Then she heard Voldemort's voice saying softly,

"Bella. Bellatrix…"

She blinked and was staring at the ceiling, but she sat up slowly again, wincing at the little twinge of pain in her stomach as she did. She stared at Voldemort and said apologetically,

"I'm sorry; this Anodyne Draught…"

"Don't apologise." He picked up the bowl of soup and flicked a finger, Banishing the tray to the bedside table. He nudged his body closer to Bellatrix and said, "You'll understand if I think you're a bit drowsy and shaky to be holding a scalding bowl of soup on your own just now."

"Oh. Of course, Master." Bellatrix stared down to her feet, where Maelstrom the kitten was batting at her toes. She smiled a little at him, and Voldemort followed her gaze. He scoffed softly and declared,

"That cat has not left you for hardly a moment."

"Kitten." Bellatrix flicked her eyes to Voldemort, feeling them burn. "He's just a kitten."

"Mmm-hmm. Soup time." Voldemort spooned some cheese and potato out of the bowl, and he brought the bowl beneath the spoon close to Bellatrix's mouth. Then, seeming to realise the soup was hot, he leaned forward and blew on the spoon a little. He finally brought the spoon to Bellatrix's mouth, and she parted her lips and let him slide it inside. She ate the bite of soup, relishing its delectable savoury flavour. Bellatrix's breath shook as she stared at Voldemort. He took the spoon back slowly, dipping it into the bowl of soup again and blowing on it once more.

There was something so oddly sensual about this, Bellatrix thought as she took another bite of buttery, delicious soup. There was something vaguely sexual about being spoon-fed by him. Why? Why was this making her wet between her legs? She squirmed a little where she sat and watched Voldemort's eyes flutter a little. He spooned more soup into her mouth, one spoonful after another until half the bowl was gone and Bellatrix was moaning softly.

"Bella." He sounded a little choked them, and when she forced her eyes to his face, she saw that his cheeks had gone red. His  _ears_  were red. His lips were shaking. He wanted her. Bellatrix licked a drop of cheesy soup off her bottom lip and begged him,

"More, please. Master…"

"Mmmph." He looked tortured, as though doing this was causing him physical pain. Why was this act so arousing, Bellatrix wondered? Why did it turn the both of them on so profoundly for him to give her food? She didn't care much anymore; she just tasted the metal of the spoon in her mouth as he fed her, and she groaned. The cheese and potato were secondary now, somehow. It was delicious soup, but that was an accessory to the way Voldemort was staring at her and caring for her, drawing the spoon between her lips and holding the bowl in his shaking hand.

Suddenly she wanted to tell him something - something she knew she should never, ever tell him. She wanted to tell him that she loved him. Her mind was screaming it; the idea was pounding inside her head. She loved him. She shook her head wildly and insisted,

"I'm full. I'm… that's enough. Thank you."

Voldemort pulled the spoon away and put it into the bowl, which he set aside. He just sat there on the edge of the bed for a long moment, looking quite troubled, until at last he murmured,

"We are more than just a prophesied pair, you and I."

Bellatrix felt shock hit her as though she'd leaped into cold water. She blinked. He raised his eyes to her and nodded.

"I kissed you," he said, "because I thought I had to. But I liked it. Quite a lot. And I'd have liked it with or without a prophecy. And you have wanted me for a long while now."

"Yes, I have." Bellatrix's voice was barely audible to her own ears. Maelstrom came stomping up the bed with his tiny little paws, landing on Bellatrix's thighs and curling up into a ball there. She pet the kitten absentmindedly and studied Voldemort's face. He told her,

"We have become… we are… I like to sleep with you."

He pinched his lips, and Bellatrix just tried not to cry as she nodded and replied,

"I like to sleep with you, too, My Lord."

"I like to watch you paint. A few days ago, when you were painting your Cornish palm, and I was drinking white wine on the patio, I felt sincere happiness," Voldemort declared. He picked at the quilt that was atop Bellatrix and said, "I admire your courage in combat more than you know, but I never expected to so very deeply enjoy time spent alone with you."

"Oh." Bellatrix choked out the word. It was all she could say. She couldn't manage anything else. Voldemort carried on,

"Seeing that memory of you nearly dying made my stomach ache. I can't… it troubles me quite deeply, the notion of your death. I am attached to you… emotionally. I never… I have never been emotionally to another person before."

"Oh," Bellatrix said again, shaking a little. Voldemort stared at the quilt, apparently fascinated by the patchwork design, and he just kept talking.

"The prophecies instruct that, in order to be successful, I must keep you near and keep you mine. That I must crave you. All of that is easily done. All it requires is that I take you prisoner, claim you thoroughly, and find you attractive. But what has happened is something very much more than that. I had lemonade whilst you were sleeping."

That seemed like a very random thing for him to say, Bellatrix thought, until she realised the meaning behind it.

Her favourite drink was lemonade. He'd come back from the funeral and had seen what had happened to her, and he'd asked for her favourite drink.

Emotionally attached.

Suddenly Bellatrix's eyes welled very heavily, and she whispered rather frantically,

"I have to tell you… I'm sorry… I'm in love with you."

"You've already told me." Voldemort smirked a little, still looking down at the quilt. Bellatrix felt a spike of confusion. Voldemort sighed and slowly raised his eyes. "Sleeping under the Anodyne Draught just after your duel. I'd just come, and you fell back to sleep, and you told me. Twice. So I know already; don't worry."

"Oh." Bellatrix felt rather like that was all she could say today. She was bleeding little fool, she thought, abruptly embarrassed. She would never in a million years expect to be loved back by Lord Voldemort of all people, and so she was unsurprised when he insisted,

"I think if there is one person on this planet who could never love another, it's me. But I am… quite fond of you, and rather attached to you, in a way I did not anticipate being, and I should like to kiss you now."

"Oh." Bellatrix's whisper then was swallowed up as Voldemort moved nearer to her, cradling the back of her head in his hand and gently touching his lips to hers. She whimpered a little onto his mouth, wanting more, but he kept the kiss almost chaste in how easy it was. When he pulled away, he curled up half his mouth and whispered,

"My, but I do crave you. Shall I fetch a book and read to you for a while, Miss Black?"

She nodded, unable to speak, and watched him rise off the bed, pick up the tray with the bowl on it, and stalk out of her bedroom.

**Author's Note: Interesting to see what went down through Bellatrix's POV, no? And who out there thinks Ronky is just the sweetest little elf in the world? He's off to Malfoy Manor… will he and Dobby become little House-Elf friends? :} As for Bellatrix and Voldemort, sure seems like this is bringing them closer than ever. What next? We'll get Abraxas' report, which should be interesting, and we'll also have a lemon coming up. How? Well, you'll have to wait and see. Mwah hahaha. Thanks so much for reading. Please do REVIEW!**


	17. So Much Less

" _And so the wizard Yarba became one of the most feared pirates in the Caribbean Sea. He used his magic to communicate with Beasts and Beings in the water, including Merpeople, which frightened his crew terribly and convinced them that he had powers none of the rest of them could fathom. He was never, therefore, the victim of a mutiny. And during battles against captured ships, Yarba would use magic to protect his ship from cannon fire, making in Impermeable. Meanwhile, his crew found that their swords and pistols fought far more accurately than -"_

"Master!"

Voldemort set down the book from which he'd been reading to Bellatrix and turned his head to see Ronky standing in the doorway of the rainbow quilt room. Voldemort raised his brows and glanced at Bellatrix.

"I apologise, but we shall have to interrupt our tale of wizard pirates," he smirked. Bellatrix laughed a little and insisted gently,

"You must get your report, My Lord."

"Ronky." Voldemort barked at the elf, who scampered backward against the threshold of the door. Voldemort turned in his chair a bit and demanded, "What did Abraxas Malfoy say?"

Ronky came creeping into the bedroom, knitting his hands together. He noted,

"Ronky quite likes the Malfoy elf Dobby, sir. Dobby is a most kind elf, sir."

"I don't care about their bloody stupid elf, you ridiculous creature!" Voldemort snarled. Ronky yelped and nodded.

"So sorry, sir. Anyway, sir. Mister Abraxas said the following. The people at the funeral all escaped safely to their homes and understand that the Ministry ambushed the funeral, sir. The Black family is understanding and has privately cremated Madam Irma Black, sir. There were no casualties, sir."

"Everyone made it out? Everyone's laying low?" Voldemort confirmed, and Ronky nodded.

"Yes, sir. Yes, sir." Ronky continued, "Mister Abraxas Malfoy also said that the Ministry of Magic is quite distressed over the loss of the Aurors, sir. The Minister has ordered that the  _Daily Prophet_  stay silent on the deaths to avoid giving you press coverage, sir. Mister Abraxas Malfoy says that the Departments of Mysteries and Magical Law Enforcement are very upset about the prophecy and the fact that the Aurors were Vanished and have essentially disappeared. Mister Abraxas Malfoy says, sir, that he recommends that you and Miss Bellatrix stay hidden and that the rest of the Death Eaters continue undercover work or lay low for several weeks at minimum, sir. He says the Ministry is on guard, sir."

Voldemort nodded. He shut his eyes for a moment and licked his lip. He finally looked at the House-Elf and said,

"Go back to Malfoy Manor. Tell Abraxas Malfoy that his message has been received. Tell him that I'll send you for reports every few days."

"Yes, sir. Yes, Master. I shall go back at once!" Ronky exclaimed. He was about to snap his fingers and Disapparate, but Voldemort quickly said to him,

"Ronky. You have my permission to stay for one hour and socialise with Dobby, if Abraxas permits it."

Ronky grinned very broadly and nodded happily. "Thank you, Master!"

He Disapparated, and Voldemort turned back to Bellatrix. She gave him a weak little smile and said to him,

"You were merciful toward the elf." She pet her kitten, and Voldemort rolled his eyes. He picked at the quilt and fretted,

"I'm going soft. I need to kill something or else I'm going to lose myself. Perhaps I'll kill Maelstrom."

"No!" Bellatrix snatched her kitten up into her arms and whispered, "Please, Master. I beg you. Not Maelstrom."

Voldemort scowled at her. "It was a joke. A bad one, apparently. I wouldn't kill your cat."

Bellatrix slowly set Maelstrom down and gulped. She nodded. "I'm too sensitive on this Anodyne Draught. I hope I can stop taking it soon."

"Your pain would be immense," Voldemort said, shaking his head, but Bellatrix insisted,

"I can make it through the pain, Master."

"I don't want you in pain," he seethed, reaching for her hand. He squeezed a little and whispered again, "I don't want you in pain."

"Oh." Bellatrix blinked a few times at him and stared at the book he'd set down. "Will you finish telling me about wizard pirates, My Lord?"

"Perhaps tomorrow." He stared at their linked hands, and he dragged his thumb over hers. He shut his eyes and felt a wave of want come over him. "You're due for more medicinal potions now."

"Yes." Bellatrix's voice was soft and distant. Voldemort sucked in breath through his nose and released her hand, and he reached for the potions on the table beside Bellatrix's bed. First he reached for the Sanguinalis Serum, and he filled the dropper of scarlet fluid and brought it to Bellatrix's lips. She dutifully drank it down, and he murmured,

"Good. You'll keep making up that blood you lost."

He put the lid back on, and he reached for the Anodyne Draught. He filled up the dropper with the sickly sweet syrup. He drizzled it between Bellatrix's lips, and he smiled just a little at Bellatrix as she finished swallowing the draught. As he shut the bottle, she muttered,

"Oh, dear. Woozy."

"Lie down and rest, Bella. I don't want you in pain." Voldemort rose slowly and set down the bottle on the table. He bent and kissed Bellatrix's forehead, but she rather impulsively took his cheeks in her hands and made their lips touch. He tasted a hint of the sweet Anodyne Draught on her lips, just enough to numb his mouth, and he whispered against her, "Rest, my beautiful girl."

She let out a rickety breath at that, at the way he'd called her beautiful and his, and she settled back against the pillows. She shut her eyes and was quickly lost to sleep, but just before her breath truly slowed, she whispered,

"I do love you, Master."

Voldemort nodded and cleared his throat, deciding that he needed a shower.

* * *

Lord Voldemort turned on the taps in his black and white tiled shower and let the hot water pour over his head. He coursed his fingers over his scalp and reached for his kelp and salt soap. It smelled like the sea, like the waves that crashed outside this house. He rubbed it over his arms and chest and then sudsed up his thinning hair.

And then he began to think of Bellatrix.

She was absolutely beautiful, Voldemort thought. He contemplated her youth. She seemed so very, very young. Had he ever been that young? What had it been like to be twenty years old, working at Borgin and Burkes, with witches fawning over his handsome self? He barely remembered now. Youth had slipped away from him in its entirety. He was old now, and Bellatrix was so very young. There were no lines round her eyes or lips like there would be in twenty-five years' time. There were no threads of grey in her hair as there would eventually be. For now, she was young and so beautiful, so achingly beautiful.

Her hair was an explosion. Voldemort reached out for the tile on the wall in the shower and blinked, thinking of what it felt like to twine his fingers into her springy mass of wild curls. He thought of her eyes, wide and dark and shining. Her lips, full and usually just a little parted… her nose, narrow and long. She had perfectly round, small breasts that fit just so into Voldemort's hands. He shut his eyes and imagined squeezing them, imagined cupping one and playing with the nipple.

Suddenly he found himself growing a bit hard, and he grunted softly as he began to think more about Bellatrix. He thought about her sitting on the lawn with her painting before her, carefully brushing green onto her Cornish palm. She'd been so expert in her movements, even though she was an utter novice at painting. He'd been sitting at the table on the patio, sipping white wine and watching her paint, and the sun had been setting, and her hair had been blowing in the wind, and she had been unfathomably beautiful.

Voldemort wrapped his hand around his cock and started to stroke under the flow of the hot water. He wrenched his eyes tightly shut and imagined kissing her. He thought of the taste of winter upon her - cold and crisp and delicious. He thought of lathing his tongue along the side of her throat, of nibbling beneath her ear. He thought of threading his fingers up into her hair and holding onto her as he entered her, feeling her warm and tight around his cock.

His hand moved faster as he leaned with his left forearm onto the tile wall. He groaned a little and let the hot water rush over his back, and he finally whispered,

"Bellatrix."

He could see her face now, quite clearly. He could see those wide eyes, those full parted lips, staring up at him as though she were beneath him in bed. She was marveling up at him, whispering  _Master, Master…_ she was finishing, her eyes rolling back and her breath hitching and her fingers convulsing against his chest. Voldemort slapped the tile wall and gripped the tip of his cock, stroking quickly a few times as everything snapped. He came  _hard_ , his come leaping in jets out into the puddle of water on the shower floor. He watched it wash down the drain and trembled mightily.

When at last he'd recovered, Voldemort stood upright and stared at the taps. He thought more about her, about the witch who had absolutely consumed every portion of his being as of late. He thought of the way Bellatrix had so quickly taken to her tasks. She had mastered painting with one piece - her work of the sea and sky and palms was beautiful. As a Death Eater, she was a young fighter with almost immeasurable skill. She fought valiantly in battles. She tortured and killed for him with abandon. She duelled elegantly and fearlessly. She was a warrior in the truest sense of the word.

_His_ warrior.

She was obedient, too. He could tell her to bring him the Moon, and she would try her damndest. She'd be sitting with spellbooks all round her, searching for a way to Summon the Moon. She'd run and leap if he told her to jump off a cliff into the sea. If he told her he wanted her wand broken, she'd snap it in a second. She would do absolutely anything for him. Anything at all. She would give him her whole self and she would attach herself entirely to him. She had already done so. She would continue to do so. She was his. She belonged entirely to him, and he liked that.

Voldemort thought about something else he rather liked, which was how Bellatrix made him feel when he was around her. She made him… well,  _comfortable._  She made him feel at ease, as though the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. When they were in bed together, he slept far more soundly and deeply than he'd ever slept before in his life. Drifting off into oblivion with her curled up against his chest was the most peaceful way to slumber that he could imagine. And waking up with her beside him, both of them groggy and smelling of sleep and neither caring about the sloppiness of it all, was magnificent. He very, very much liked that - waking up with her. He cared now that bed felt empty without her. It was a singularly bizarre and heady sensation to almost  _need_  her at nighttime.

The water started to go cold, so Voldemort shut the taps off and stood in the quiet tiled shower, staring at his feet and thinking about what he'd done earlier when he'd read to her. It had been so undeniably pleasant to do so. And she was in love with him; she'd told him so. Did he… could he ever…?

Voldemort scowled, raising his eyes to the black and white tile of the shower wall and shivering a little as the water evaporated off his skin. He gulped hard and remembered the sight of her blood on the rocks and grass when he'd come here from her grandmother's funeral. He'd seen the corpse of the Auror she'd slain, and he'd seen her blood. And the spike of fear that had gone through him had been unprecedented and heavy and very real. He had thought, for a good solid moment, that Bellatrix Black was dead, and that thought had made him feel abject panic. She mustn't be dead, he'd thought, because if she were to die, he would lose something extremely important… not just to his success, but to his happiness.

What did all of this mean, put together in sum? She was beautiful. She was skilled and obedient and intelligent. She was wicked and Dark in all the right ways. She brought Voldemort happiness and made him very comfortable in the times they spent alone together. And the thought of losing her made him feel deeply afraid.

Was that love? When people spoke of love, it seemed they spoke of less. So often, people spoke trivially of love in ways that made it seem like so much less than what Voldemort was feeling now.

She was almost everything. And she was beautifully sufficient in pleasing him in every way imaginable. He longed for her in every moment they were apart. He  _craved_  her, not just sexually, but to the marrow of his bones. He wanted to keep her, not just claim her. He cared for her, so profoundly that the foreign feel of it made his head float a little.

Was that love? When people spoke of love, it seemed they spoke of less.

Voldemort huffed a breath and stepped out of the shower, snatching a fluffy black towel off the rack and drying his hair before wrapping it round his waist. He stared at his reflection in the half-fogged mirror and knew that Bellatrix was probably asleep in the rainbow quilt bed. Maelstrom was likely curled up beside her. He imagined her peaceful and quiet and then thought of the healing scar worming its way in a harsh diagonal across her torso. He frowned and shook his head at his reflection, pained by the notion of her being cut open. He blinked a few times and whispered,

"Bella."

What was this, this strange sensation that had taken over his consciousness? People seemed to speak of less.

He decided quickly that he did not need a word for it, that he didn't need a label or a category. It didn't matter what he was experiencing. It simply  _was_. They simply  _were_ , the two of them. She was his. And, perhaps, just a little bit, he was hers, too.

They were more than just a prophesied pair, he and Bellatrix. They were… they were  _together_ , weren't they? Not just physically. Not just in proximity. They'd become rather a couple, as dreadful a notion as that was. Did Voldemort mind that? Did he mind the idea of being hers whilst she was his?

No, he thought, dragging a comb through his damp hair and staring into the mirror. He did not mind that one bit.

And it didn't matter if it was love or not. People seemed to use that word for so much less, anyway.

**Author's Note: I apologize for the delay in updating. My son has epilepsy and had a brain MRI under general anesthesia today, so I couldn't write until tonight. Thanks for your understanding.**

**This story will likely have about three more chapters - just a heads-up.**

**I value your feedback more than I can say! Thanks for reading.**


	18. Sunset

**Author's Note: Fair warning - this is the last chapter of the story!**

Two weeks later, Bellatrix was well enough to sit up. She was still seriously achy. Moving from her left to her right or back the other way would send a shooting pain up her belly, even with the low doses of Anodyne Draught she was still taking. But her incision was healing very well and would likely only leave a thin, sheer scar. Her organs were all functioning properly. The ache would fade with time, and that time was passing.

The only real problem was that with healing had come boredom. Bellatrix had become so ridiculously bored inside The Reverie that she often thought it would bring her to tears. She could only stare out the window for so long. She could only read so many books, or sketch the flowers in the vase beside her bed so many times. Even playing with Maelstrom grew tiresome after long enough.

One day, Bellatrix asked Voldemort whether he would help her move downstairs to the parlour so that she could get a change of scenery and sketch out the basis of her next painting, which she was itching to complete. Voldemort gamely carried Bellatrix down the stairs after helping her change into real clothes - she was quite tired of wearing a nightgown all the time - and got her settled in a side chair in the parlour. He set up her easel for her and fetched her a small canvas and pencils. Then he stood before her and asked plainly,

"Will you sketch me?"

Bellatrix stared up at him with very wide eyes. She shook her head a little and whispered,

"I wouldn't do you justice, My Lord."

His lips curled up just a little, and he shrugged. "I should like to see you make an attempt, at least. If you despise the results, we'll Vanish them. Please. I'd be honoured."

She blinked. To hear  _him_  speak like that to  _her_ … Bellatrix's mouth fell open. She swallowed hard and finally nodded, gesturing for Voldemort to sit in the armchair before her. He looked quite content as he sank down into the chair, putting a hand on either arm. He reclined back against the cushion of the chair and kept his face steady and straight, his expression neutral. Bellatrix picked up a pencil, her hand shaking like mad as she neatened her canvas. She put the pencil to it, touching the sharp tip to the material as she studied Voldemort's face, and then she froze.

He really was very scarred and affected by the Dark Magic he'd referenced, she thought now. She was blinded to his flaws by the way that she loved him, but she could see now that he was not actually  _handsome._  There were the effects of whatever awful Dark Magic he'd conducted, and there were the effects of age, rendering him what many might even consider ugly. How was she to draw him without offending him? His hairline had receded far up the sides of his forehead, and his actual hair was thinning and greying. His left eye and left cheek both drooped as if they were made of slightly melted wax. His nose looked like he'd taken a few bad punches and the bridge had healed badly from some breaks. His lips appeared to have been cut open and scabbed back shut a few times. His scruff grew in unevenly over scales of scar tissue on his chin and right cheek. And the whites of his eyes were a bit bloodshot. So how was Bellatrix to sketch him without making him cross? How had she never noticed before how deeply flawed he was? She cleared her throat and began to sketch in silence.

She got started by roughing out the basic shapes of the head - two overlapping ovals. The primary oval gave her the shape of his face, whilst the secondary oval described the back of the head. Bellatrix took her time making these just right, or else she risked his face looking too plump or too long. It was important that the shape of him be just so. Next she added construction lines for the eyes, nose, and mouth to demarcate precisely where his features fell along the plane of his face. She added the ears next, paying very close attention to where they were in relation to the eyes and nose. Badly placed ears could ruin a portrait, she knew. She took note of the way Voldemort's ears appeared to have been burned by acid or otherwise maimed along the edges, and she tried to accurately capture the wrinkling without being offensive.

The lighting was perfect, Bellatrix thought. Beautifully diffuse light was streaming in through the window. It was a cloudy day, and a light rain had begun to fall. It cast just the right amount of light over Voldemort's face with minimal shadowing, which made Bellatrix's job far easier. She began to sculpt his face now with the pencil, and she realised as she moulded his jaw and cheekbones that he must have been quite handsome in his youth. The planes and lines and angles of him were sharp and clean.

"I was well-liked at Hogwarts," Voldemort murmured, and Bellatrix smiled to herself as she realised he was in her head. She raised her eyes to him and nodded.

"I'm quite certain you were, Master. Please sit still."

"Yes, Miss Black," he whispered, and suddenly she couldn't breathe. It took everything she had to spend the next few minutes shading and contouring the face, noting where the minimal shadowing fell. At last the sketch was finished, and Bellatrix looked at it for a moment, thinking it was actually quite a good representation of Lord Voldemort's likeness. She shut her eyes for a second, gathered her courage, and passed the canvas over to him. He took it in his hand and just stared for so long that Bellatrix began to panic. Then at last he said softly,

"How very hideous I am, and you have captured it expertly."

Bellatrix gasped, feeling afraid. Was he going to punish her? Was he very angry with the drawing? He looked up at her and turned up half his mouth.

"Magnificent work, Bellatrix. You are…  _very_  good at this."

"Oh." She breathed a long sigh of relief, setting her pencil down and fluttering her eyes a few times. She reached for the canvas, taking it back, and mumbled, "It'll look better painted. I'll paint it."

"Mmm." Voldemort smiled a little and nodded. Bellatrix couldn't seem to find anything to say him after that. She stared at his eyes and just wanted to kiss him. He seemed to sense that, and his lips parted a little. The rain outside the window began to fall far more insistently, and a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Voldemort blinked a few times, looked remarkably peaceful all of a sudden, and whispered,

"I love you."

Bellatrix felt a jolt of shock. She just stared. For some reason, her ears tuned to the rain, to the sound of the pattering, and her eyes seared like fire. She finally nodded and said back in a soft voice,

"I love you more than life itself."

He shook his head a little and reminded her, "But you must live for me. With me."

"I will, Master. Always," she promised. Voldemort let out a long, trembling sigh and pinched his lips. He eyed the kitten who had come prancing into the parlour, and he nodded.

"Good. Why don't you draw Maelstrom?"

* * *

The next week, Bellatrix was able to walk down to the sea shore and put her feet into the water. She was stronger now than she'd been at any point since the day of her Gran Irma's funeral. Her wound barely hurt now; she could throw pebbles into the sea and it barely ached to do so. She could cast all manner of spells with her wand without feeling any effects. She was strong, and she was bored.

She gazed out at the setting sun on the sea and wondered how long she would have to stay in this house. She missed fighting so badly that it took her breath away to think about it. She'd heard there had been a battle where Rodolphus had nearly gotten himself killed. He'd been taking on three Aurors at once until Yaxley and Avery had rushed in to help him. Bellatrix knew that if she'd been there, she would have been an asset to the battle. Voldemort knew this, too. Of that she was certain. The war raged on without her; the Ministry continued to seek ways to destroy Lord Voldemort whilst Bellatrix Black wasted away at a holiday home.

She was prophesied, she knew, and she was in love. But if she stayed here forever painting and playing with a kitten, she would go utterly mad.

"Cornish sunsets are almost criminally beautiful, aren't they?"

Bellatrix smiled a little as Voldemort walked up beside her on the sand. She turned her face and stared up at him, nodding.

"It's magnificent here, Master."

"But you are losing your patience for this place, despite its beauty."

How had he known precisely what had been troubling her? Legilimency, obviously. He'd talked about teaching her Occlumency, but perhaps he didn't want her to be able to shut him out. Bellatrix gazed up at Voldemort and nodded.

"I worry about my mind, staying here forever."

"It won't be forever," he promised her. "Someday you'll be somewhere else, but I will find a way to involve you in the war, even from here."

Bellatrix furrowed her brows in confusion. "How?"

She was pressing him, she knew, but he didn't seem to mind. He shrugged and admitted,

"I haven't got it quite figured yet, but I am determined not to see you sit out this war. You are my finest warrior and my most loyal servant, and I have no intention of sidelining you because of prophecies."

Bellatrix felt a wash of relief come over her, and she reached for his hand, slipping her fingers through his rather boldly as she informed him, "I am grateful for the intention, Master."

The two of them stared out at the ever-dipping sunset over the sea, and after some time, Voldemort said almost gently,

"Someday I shall take you to Galicia, in Spain. They have the most marvelous sunsets."

"Galicia? Is there something very special about Galicia?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort answered delicately,

"It is where I became the wizard I am now."

There was silence then, and Bellatrix realised she had so much to learn about him. She wondered how much he would ever share with her.

The sun slipped at last below the horizon, and the moment its orange glow vanished, Voldemort tightened his hold on Bellatrix's hand. His voice was like silk on the the air then.

"You are near, and you are mine, and I do crave you more than anything."

Bellatrix shut her eyes, feeling profoundly emotional all of a sudden. Her eyes were still shut when she heard Voldemort say,

"I'm famished. Let us go into the house and have Ronky make us some dinner."

"And what do you desire to eat, Master?" Bellatrix asked, staring up at him in the purple-blue light of the evening. He smirked.

"Steak. And lemonade to drink."

"Oh," Bellatrix whispered, nodding. It was what she'd told him she liked to eat and drink when they'd been lying in bed together, when they'd first come here, and he'd been trying to get to know her better. For some reason, the notion of sitting down now and eating steak and lemonade with him made tears rush to her eyes, and she found herself whispering,

"I'll fight again, won't I?"

"Yes." He nodded firmly, taking her face in his hands. "My very best warrior."

Her breath shook through clenched teeth as she nodded. "I do love you more than life itself, My Lord."

In response, he just bent and kissed her as the last shades of orange and yellow sunlight slipped into the ocean.

THE END

**Author's Note: Well, this one was super fun to write! It just had reached its natural conclusion. I hope you enjoyed it and I'm so grateful for you reading and for all the feedback I've received.**

**Now, as for what comes next. I'm going to do something I haven't done before and open the floor for reader suggestions. I'd love to get prompts/requests from people who have read my previous works and would like to see something specific. Have a story idea in mind that you'd like to see as my next work? Tell me in a review of this fic or a PM! Thanks so very much!**


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